Burn
by Madame Naberrie
Summary: Padmé regains consciousness on the Mustafar landing platform, and goes looking for Anakin. She arrives just in time to see Anakin fall into the lava...and chaos ensues. RotS AU. Finally OFF HIATUS.
1. The Immolation

I really hated the ending to RotS. I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Summary: Padmé regains consciousness on Mustafar while Obi-Wan and Anakin are fighting. Unhurt, she goes looking for them, and arrives just in time to see Anakin's tragic fate.

-:-:-:-:-

For a long time, Padmé drifted in and out of unconsciousness.

She had no concept of time, lying there in the dark created by her own mind. She didn't not know how long she laid there on the cold ground, twisted and crumbled as if she were broken. She could only replay that moment over and over again in her head, feeling the same shock each time she watched Anakin reach out and attack her—_her_. Had it really happened? She wasn't so sure. It was surreal.

She attempted to justify his actions; she had provoked him. She had betrayed him. She had wounded him and spat cruel, venomous words into his face, desperate to make him see reason. To him, it had seemed like she had brought Obi-Wan to kill him. How could he not feel betrayed?

For what seemed like a thousand eternities, thoughts like these occupied all her thoughts. And after some time, consciousness finally returned to her.

With a gasp, she jerked upward into a sitting position, hands grasping wildly at her throat. She felt as if those invisible hands were still on her, constricting her windpipe, her lungs gasping for air. Frantically, her eyes darted around the landing platform. She was still in the same place, unmoved, untouched. The ramp of her ship was still extended, as if no time had passed at all. But the landing platform was empty. No one was there.

"Anakin?" she rasped, her voice coming out weakly, though she meant to scream it. Where was he? Where was Obi-Wan? Had they left her here alone? Were they dead?

With great effort, she eased herself onto her feet, willing her knees not to buckle. Her mind was frantic with questions, her breathing erratic with panic. She needed to know what was happening. She needed to know where her husband was.

Again, she tried his name. "Anakin." She was satisfied when it came out just like she had intended: strong and commanding, like she was addressing the Senate.

There was no reply.

Without a moment's more hesitation, she reached for the comlink on her utility belt, and keyed in to Anakin's frequency. "Ani!" she barked into the small device. "Anakin!" She held her breath, desperate to hear his voice, assuring her that he was all right, that he was nearby. Something. Anything.

But silence was all that met her.

She growled in frustration, and keyed in Obi-Wan's frequency. Still, there was nothing. What had happened to them? She felt herself begin to sicken with worry. She prayed that neither of them were injured.

Relief came when she heard Artoo's warble.

She whipped around to find the small droid descending the ramp, a shiny Threepio trailing behind him. Artoo warbled frantically while Threepio chattered nonsense. "Oh, Mistress Padmé!" Threepio cried, his arms lifting into the air with relief. "Thank the Maker you're all right! When we saw you fall, we assumed the worse-"

"What's happening?" she demanded, stepping closer to the droids. "Where is Anakin?"

The droid faltered for a moment. "He and Jedi Master Obi-Wan went that way, Mistress Padmé," he informed her quickly, indicating towards the facility behind her. "Not more than two minutes ago."

Artoo squeaked and twittered.

Padmé frowned. "What were they doing?" she inquired. "What did they say?"

Threepio appeared very flustered. "They were…engaging in 'aggressive negotiations,' I believe," he answered. "I can't be sure. It wasn't terribly clear from within the cockpit."

Padmé's heart and stomach held a race to her feet. Immediately, she felt lightheaded. Her vision threatened to go black and her knees wanted desperately to give out beneath her. Oh, _no._ "Are you sure?" she demanded harshly. She looked to the smaller droid for reassurance.

He twittered sadly in affirmative.

Her heart no began to beat itself to death against the cage of her ribs. Fear gripped her like a vice. Anakin and Obi-Wan were fighting. One of them could be seriously injured, or even killed…there was no time to waste.

"Artoo, I need you to activate your scanners," she snapped at the small astromech. "Get back on the ship. We're going to find them."

She could only pray that she would not be too late.

-:-:-:-:-

She was sick with grief.

She felt like she was about to empty the contents of her stomach over and over again. She felt dizzy. The baby inside her womb would not stop kicking frantically against her ribs, as if he could feel her distress. She kept imagining that this had all been a horrible, terrible nightmare, and that soon, she would wake in her bed. Anakin would be by her side, and he would wrap her in his arms, love her, and tend to her wounds. He would care for and comfort her, and everything would be all right.

But try as she might, she could not awaken.

This was all too real. It was happening right here and now, quick as lightning, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Her eyes were trained on the hellish environment just outside the cockpit window. The ship flew slowly over the facility, searching for any trace of the two Jedi. She had to find him. She _would _find him. She would not lose him. Never.

"Anything yet, Artoo?" she asked for the millionth time. There was something in the air here—sulfur—that interfered with the droid's scanners, making it harder to locate any life forms. Still, she could not stop herself from asking.

The droid warbled softly. No. Of course not. They'd been going for what seemed like hours, and still, there was nothing. Why would there be now?

Padmé reached up and swiped perspiration from her forehead. She willed her muscles to relax and her teeth to stop clenching. She would do no good if she could not concentrate, and that would never happen while in the thrall of strong emotions. She had to be at peace. She had to be rational and level-headed. She took deep, cleansing breaths and forced herself to detach from her feelings.

Feeling slightly better, she relaxed further into the pilot's seat.

"Your scanners are extended as far as they can go?" she asked Artoo.

He beeped in conformation.

"Good," she said. "Don't stop looking for them. Threepio, keep your eyes peeled."

The golden droid seated beside her leaned forward a bit, staring out of the cockpit window. "Mistress Padmé, I think I see something," he informed her, and pointed.

With record speed she whipped around in her chair and strained her eyes, desperate to see what he had been looking at it. But try as she might, there was nothing she could spot. She sighed tiredly. "Threepio, it's nothing," she told him. "Just keep-"

And then she stopped herself mid-sentence. Because at that exact moment, she saw a brief of flash of brilliant, white-blue energy.

A lightsaber!

Her heart leapt into her throat. She threw herself at the controls and urged the ship to maximum speed. "Look!" she cried, though she really didn't care whether or not the droids saw them. All she cared about was finding Anakin and Obi-Wan.

As they came closer and closer, two bodies came into view. One tall, one shorter, both moving with astounding speed and grace. But they were far, far, too close to the lake of lava. Far too close.

Padmé felt desperation flood her senses.

She could now distinguish between Anakin and Obi-Wan, dueling on a moving platform suspended above the lava. As close as she could, she landed the ship and watched as a bitter battle between friends ensued. As the ship touched the ground, she watched Obi-Wan leap from the platform and onto the relatively safe nearby hill. Anakin remained on the platform and they seemed to be conversing.

She jerked her restraints off her body and dashed—as much as a pregnant woman could dash—towards the extending ramp. She felt the hot, odorous air hit her face, and felt intense heat on her body. She moved towards them as fast as she could, watching as Obi-Wan said something towards her husband. The roar of the lava was deafening in her ears.

"Anakin!" she cried, and stopped when she could go no further. Both men saw her, and were shocked to see her there, but neither acknowledged her presence for very long. It was clear where their focus was; entirely on each other.

"Don't try it," Obi-Wan warned his former padawan.

And suddenly, she had a terrible sense of dark foreboding.

The next few moments moved in absolute slow motion. She watched on, horrified, as Anakin gave a cry of rage, and leapt from the platform, hurling in the air towards his enemy. She knew—just knew—what was going to happen, but her body was absolutely frozen, unable to move. She felt herself screaming, felt the blood draining from her face, and could do nothing but watch as her husband was immolated.

Obi-Wan effortlessly sliced Anakin's left arm and legs from his body. Anakin tumbled down the hill, landing on his stomach, limp.

She felt the blackness take hold of her then.

"_NO!_" she screamed at the top of her lungs. Oh, no, please, _please_ no…!

But there was nothing she could do. It was already done.

She lurched towards him, desperate to go to him. But strong hands grabbed her arms, pulled her back, holding her in place. She screamed and struggled against Obi-Wan, clawing at him, fighting like a wild animal in rage. She growled. She cried out. But she was no use against his Jedi strength.

Anakin's face was contorted in pain, and he looked like he was struggling to maintain consciousness. Padmé felt as if _her_ limbs had been severed, and all she could think of was to run to him and embrace his broken body within the circle of her arms.

"Let me go!" she screamed at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan! She felt nothing but hatred for him! "Get off me!" But he said nothing to her, merely restrained her, refusing to let her go. "Anakin!"

As she struggled against Obi-Wan's arms, she felt something that surprised her—she felt wetness on the side of her face. Confused, she glanced upward only to see that her friend was crying.

At the bottom of the embankment, Anakin was writhing in agony. He reached outwards with his mechanical hand, either a gesture of desperation or a gesture of anger; she couldn't tell. She sobbed even harder when she saw the pure pain in his eyes. "I hate you!" he cried at Obi-Wan, his voice hoarse and desperate. His face was illuminated with the red light of the molten lava just below him, making him look like a thing of a evil, a monster who'd wiggled from underneath the earth, growling and hissing, doused in flames.

"Anakin," she gasped, though hardly no sound came out at all. Weakened, she stopped struggling against Obi-Wan and merely watched.

"You were my brother, Anakin!" Obi-Wan cried. "I loved you!"

She saw it coming. She knew exactly what was going to happen.

And in her heart, she felt nothing but pure terror.

She felt her soul ripped from her as the flames ignited Anakin's clothes. They crawled up his skin slowly, and Anakin screamed in pain. His eyes shut and his jaw clenched and he _screamed._

"_ANAKIN!" _she shrieked, pain slowly overriding every other emotion and feeling within her. All she could feel was terrible, awful, pain, and horror. With renewed strength, she fought against her capturer. How could this be happening? No!

His expression of agony was more than she could bear.

But when he screamed her name in desperation, she felt as if her heart and soul had withered and died. The air was sucked from her lungs and her knees went weak, and all she could think was: _how did it come to this?_

She screamed his name back, demanded that Obi-Wan let her go. The flames consumed Anakin's face, charring his perfect skin. She could not imagine a more hellish sight.

"Obi-Wan!" she cried, and beat with her fists. "I'm going to kill you!" she promised, and meant it. "Get OFF ME!"

"Padmé, the baby," Obi-Wan tried to tell her, his voice strained and laced with pain. He tried to pull her away from the scene, get her to safety, but she _would not _let him take Anakin away from her!

"I don't care!" she sobbed, her voice shrill and hysterical, and with a strength she never imagined she could posses, she broke from the circle of his arms. Her coordination completely off, she fell on her knees and half-stumbled down the embankment, landing close to her severely injured husband. She heard her name come from both men, but she registered neither. She succumbed to the darkness within her and allowed herself to be drowned in it.

For Anakin was dying.

"Padmé, you must come with me!" Obi-Wan tried to convince her, his eyes pleading. "Please! It's not safe here!"

"No," she rasped firmly. She knew it was not safe but that did not matter to her. Nothing mattered anymore. "Get out of here!"

Determination foremost in her mind, she shut his presence out of her awareness, and focused on Ani.

The flames were gone, fleeting, quick as they had come. But beside her laid a groaning and crying Anakin, his body shriveled and burned and mutilated. His hair had been completely burned off his head, and his clothes had provided little protection against the flames of hell. His skin was blackened and peeling off his face and body, the stumps of his severed limbs thrashing around in pain.

She screamed again. And again. And again.

"Anakin," she sobbed, and tried to be closer to him.

"Padmé," he murmured back, delirious with pain and heat.

She feared to touch him; she didn't want to hurt him and didn't know if she might somehow infect him or harm him. So she contented herself to lie next to his weak body, and said through the tears, "I'm here, Ani. I'm here." Dimly, she registered that Obi-Wan was gone.

Anakin succumbed to unconsciousness, and she felt herself similarly recede from the land of the living. For a long time they laid there, broken, both utterly destroyed, and for once, both welcomed the darkness.

-:-:-:-:-

_To be continued..._


	2. Only Hope

Wow! That was a lot of reviews for just one chapter! I'm flattered. Thank you all so much. Some of your ideas really helped me for inspiration on what is going to happen later on in the story, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Thank you.

Well, onto the chapter. Sorry it's kind of short, but I hope it meets your expectations.

-:-:-:-:-

No.

No.

_No._

She did not want to open her eyes.

She did not want to see the sight that would meet her the moment she lifted her heavy eyelids. She did not want to see that horrific, hellish image, to see Anakin horribly injured beside her and know that she was powerless to help.

Never in her life had she been forced into such passivity. And quite frankly, it scared her.

Moving him was out of the question. If she touched him, she could harm him more. Not to mention that his body was incredibly fragile, and very heavy, and if she did manage to get him moving, where would she take him? Her ship, with its barely functioning medical equipment? She could hardly move _herself_. She had no idea what to do with him. She had no knowledge of such injuries and therefore decided it would be safest not to do anything.

Not the best decision she'd ever made, but for the moment it would have to suffice.

Unable to prolong the moment any longer, Padmé opened her eyes and hated the blackened, smoky sky that greeted her. She was lying on her back on the ashes and dirt, just a few feet from the edge of a lake of fire. Not the safest place for one pregnant woman and one critically injured man, but again, what exactly could she do to better the situation? Leaving him alone here was not a possibility.

Bracing herself, she forced her eyes to move left, to the unconscious man just beside her, and felt sick to her stomach upon seeing the charred and mangled features of a man that had once been beautiful. She felt tears stinging at the corners of her eyes, and for the millionth time, she cursed Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man she had once been _honored_ to call her friend.

Disgusted, she resolutely turned away from the sight.

She slowly reached down to her utility belt, buckled loosely just below the bulge of her pregnant stomach. Of course, the comlink wasn't there. Just her luck that, in her haste to save Ani (which she had quite decidedly _failed_ at), she had left it behind. Well, that was the end of that.

She heard a groan from beside her.

A shot of adrenaline sent her body into convulsions, and she snapped her neck to the side to see if he was awake. His shoulders shifted ever so slightly and he moaned again.

"Anakin," she rasped, though it appeared that she had lost her voice in all the commotion earlier; her throat was on fire from all the screaming. So she settled for a croaky whisper instead, and tried his name again. "Anakin," she repeated, drawing out the last few syllables, turning very carefully onto her side to get a better view of him.

"Padm—_ahhh,"_ he groaned, his pain too much for him to bear. His eyes opened and closed over and over again, like he was struggling to remain conscious.

"I'm here, Ani," she croaked. "Stay with me. Don't close your eyes." She feared what would happen if he drifted back into pain-induced sleep. She feared he might never wake up.

The fingers of his mechanical hand, the only remaining limb on his body, flexed and stretched, clawing in the dirt. "I'm not," he hissed, his voice infinitely tired and his words barely even audible. "What's…going on…?" he managed to ask.

She longed to reach out her hand, stroke his forehead, just between his eyes, and reassure him like she always had been able to. But she doubted he would welcome her touch now, and it would probably hurt more than it would soothe.

Padmé coughed, feeling like the inside of her lungs were lined with smoke and ashes, and inhaled a breath of thick, dry, air. "You've been hurt," she informed him, her voice calm for his sake. "Try not to move."

She saw his fingers flexing again, and his eyes again closed in pain. "I have to…move…on my back…" he trailed off, and wiggled his shoulders around. "My chest…hurts," he rasped, and with great effort and probably a lot of Jedi strength, he rolled himself onto his back. He sucked in deep breaths of air, his chest slowly heaving up and down. He appeared to be somewhat more comfortable like this, so she let him be.

"It'll be all right, Anakin," she told him slowly, and with much more confidence than she felt. "We're going to get out of this."

He gasped in more air, shaking with the effort. "We're going…to die…here," he corrected, and shuddered in pain.

She did not like the tone of his voice when he had said that. "Don't talk like that," she ordered him, her voice stronger. "For as long as I've known you, you've been able to handle anything. Don't give up. Not yet."

He didn't immediately agree with her, but he didn't protest either, and for the moment, that was probably all she would get. Tiredly, she moved herself back onto the ground, arms stretching out beside her. Her back was screaming in pain, and she gently touched her belly with her fingertips, praying that the child had not been hurt.

Suddenly, the even, heavy breaths beside her silenced. Feeling fear grip her lungs and heart, she quickly turned to face him, but he did not appear dead. His eyes were closed, as if in extreme concentration, and he uttered a single word.

"Palpatine."

Confused, she managed to pull herself into a sitting position, ignoring the throbbing in her head. She awkwardly twisted her body to face behind her, and felt a sense of dread when she saw a dark ship touch the landing platform beside her own.

Oh, no.

She contemplated this turn of events as she watched Palpatine, followed by three troopers, quickly emerge from the ship. She gasped in deep lungfulls of air as the Sith Lord's eyes scanned the environment, searching for his new apprentice. She shuddered in disgust; she had almost forgotten.

They spotted them quickly, and the hunched figure made his way to the embankment. No, no, _no, _she did not want him here!

He spotted her, took in her form for a moment, and then ignored her. He knelt beside his injured apprentice, and muttered, "Vader," his hand touching the young man's forehead.

Anger flared in her, sharp and like the flames just feet away from her.

The new Emperor pulled his yellow gaze up to meet hers, and she felt herself trembling under the gaze of such evil eyes. "What happened?" he demanded in his eerie voice, his eyes accusatory and challenging.

She swallowed the bile that had formed in her throat and managed to form a sufficient reply. "He was burned," she told him, not meeting his gaze. Padmé turned her deep brown eyes onto the form of her husband, whose blue eyes, for the first time since they'd awakened, were level with her own. Her heart melted at the sight and she felt her resolve wither and die. She looked back at Palpatine skeptically; he was a Sith Lord, a traitor to democracy, and the man responsible for Anakin's downfall. But standing right here and right now, he was the only man that could help her husband, and that alone made everything else irrelevant. "Can you help him?" she asked him, her voice low and shaky.

The Emperor took a moment to reply. "I can try," he said by way of answer, and turned to one of the clone troopers beside him. "Fetch a medical capsule," he ordered the solider, and watched for a moment as the armored man whisked away to carry out his orders. He turned back to her, and his eyes were menacing. "You should go back to Coruscant, Senator," he told her, spitting the title with venom. "Let me take care of this."

She was about to protest, but another voice spoke in for her. "No," Anakin refused. "She comes with us."

She was very, very surprised when Palpatine didn't argue, but she figured that he must have something in mind if he didn't protest to her coming along. Before, that would have bothered her, but now…well now, everything seemed unimportant.

And that's why she found herself trusting blindly in the man that had destroyed her world, following him into his ship with Anakin in a medical stretcher just in front of her. Why? Because whether she liked it or not, this man was her only hope.

-:-:-:-:-

_To be continued…_


	3. A Fateful Choice

Hi, guys! I'd like to thank all my reviewers, first of all. You guys are _so nice._ Seriously, I just came back from a sucky rehearsal for my show next week and my day got a thousand times better when I read all your guys' nice reviews. So, thank you!

Secondly, I know I've updated rather frequently since, er, yesterday, but next week I have a lot of stuff to do, so updates will be tad bit slower. Who knew that ninth grade Biology could be so _time consuming_? Ugh.

Anyways, please keep reviewing. I like all of your ideas so much and they really do help a lot.

Read on!

-:-:-:-:-

Padmé kept her eyes closed, clenched her fists, and refused to look at the man in front of her.

How could he _ask_ such a thing of her?

She took deep breaths and forced her body to relax. In truth, she wanted to scream at him. She wanted to yell and beat her fists and tell him where to go and how to get there. She wanted, really, to kill him.

But she did none of these things. Instead, she merely said slowly, "Tell me again what you want me to do." Thankfully, her voice came out calm and unwavering, and she opened her eyes.

Darth Sidious, Emperor and dark Lord of the Sith, stood before her in the harsh light of the medical facility, his yellow eyes piercing into her own. Beside him stood a Rodian medic, datapad in his hand and determination in his eyes. "Senator Amidala, we have no other options," the man informed her, his tone irritated. "Either we perform the procedure or your husband dies."

Padmé moaned in frustration and pressed her hands to her forehead. "Do you realize what you're asking me to do?" she bit out, fingernails clawing in her hair. "This cannot be the only way. _It can't. _There has to be something you can do!" Her last sentence came out slightly shrill, bordering on hysterical. She chided herself for not managing to keep her control.

"My lady, we already _are,_" the medic informed her in a condescending tone of voice. "We've already sent his DNA to Kamino; there's nothing more we can do at the moment. You must trust our judgment."

Ha! She wanted to laugh. Trusting in the manipulative Sith who'd lied to her for the past thirteen years was absolutely not an option.

Then again, it was the only option she had.

Tiredly, she sighed. "How long would he have to be in the suit?" she questioned them.

"Not long," the medic assured her. "A year. Maybe two. But the fact remains that he cannot survive without his lungs. For now, we need to put him on life-support."

Padmé was slowly finding herself running out of options. They were right, of course. It would take a long while to clone his new limbs and lungs, and he couldn't just lie in a coma until then. Something had to be done. And it appeared as if there was truly nothing else they could do.

"Anakin would not consent to this," she informed them haughtily, as a last resort. A cheap shot, she knew, but again, she was not under normal circumstances.

"_Anakin_ is not awake right now," the Emperor reminded her, spitting Vader's previous name in her face so nonchalantly that she questioned whether or not he actually meant it as an insult. "And if he were, we would present him with the argument we've given you. And he, like yourself, would be forced to concede that there is no other option."

Padmé's stomach lurched violently, as if the child could hear her predicament and was trying to show that he didn't like it, either. Absently, she placed her hand on her belly and tried to think.

If she consented to this, Anakin would undergo a long and dangerous surgery in which his burned and broken body would be reconstructed. Prosthetic limbs would be attached the stumps of his arms and legs. A life-support box would be attached to his chest. It would force his heart to beat and make his lungs contract. He would be encased a suit which would prevent any foreign substances from touching his completely vulnerable skin. Yes, it would be just until his new limbs and lungs could be cloned, but still, it would change him.

His body would be hidden from her completely.

His body would be a machine.

And he would be broken in more ways then one.

His soul had already been tarnished with darkness. Padmé liked to believe that she could bring him back, but after he'd attacked her, that hope seemed somewhat maudlin and naïve. Now his body would become artificial and machine-operated. He didn't even have his _name_ to call his own. He would be Darth Vader. A completely different person.

But he would be alive.

After a long moment, she raised her gaze up to the men standing in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she made her decision. "Do it," she ordered in a breathless gasp, feeling, in that moment, self-loathing above all else.

She waited until they had both gone to break into agonized sobs.

-:-:-:-:-

Padmé gazed out at the skyline of a beautifully-illuminated Coruscant. Out of habit, her eyes sought out the Jedi Temple. Often times, when she had been alone in her apartment and Anakin had been away from her, she would stare at the Temple for hours, her mind conjuring up images of Anakin, and what he would be doing at that exact moment. It had brought her some small semblance of comfort, and thusly, she'd been able to endure the rest of the day without breaking into agonized tears.

Now the Temple was destroyed; much like Anakin Skywalker. How fitting, she thought darkly. In her mind, she had always associated her husband with the Jedi Temple. If it was gone—for it was his life—then he was similarly gone.

Looking out at the stars through the foggy window of the medcenter, she contemplated the decision she had just made. To say she was unhappy with the situation would be an extreme understatement. Despite all the medical evidence to back it up as the safest route they could take, despite reasonable arguments from the medics and the undeniable lack of other options, she could not bring herself to accept it. One image came to mind, over and over again.

A Sith Lord rotting away inside his shell, his prison, until he became more machine than man; twisted and evil.

She shuddered.

She had made her decision. She couldn't go back on it, and she didn't even have to like it. But she promised herself one thing.

No matter what, she would love him.

Because Anakin Skywalker was in there somewhere, buried deeply in the shell of Vader. And she swore that, no matter what it took, she would find him.

-:-:-:-:-

_To be continued…_


	4. Believe

Hey, guys! Sorry it's taken me a bit longer to update. I've been ridiculously busy. I had FIVE DAYS to rehearse for an entire, full-length show, and we had rehearsals every day until at least midnight. It was insane. But we preformed finally, and it magically came together at the last minute and turned out to be amazing! Ha, ha!

But enough about me.

Here's the chapter.

-:-:-:-:-

_Don't panic._

Padmé Naberrie Amidala Skywalker repeated the mantra over and over in her head. _Do not panic, Padmé. You have been trained to accept the foreign, the unfamiliar. You can do this. _

_Yeah, right._

She felt the strange urge to slap herself. By the Force, why was this turning out to be so difficult? It was _Ani_, for Force's sake. Anakin Skywalker. Her husband. The same man. The _same man_.

After a very long moment, she managed to turn her eyes back towards the imperious figure in front of her, to the man encased entirely in a black suit of armor. To a man whose limbs were fake and whose body was falling apart. To the man she'd known for thirteen years. Her best friend, her confidant, the love her life, her husband, and the father of her unborn child.

"Anakin," she choked, feeling tears pricking in the corner of her eyes. She forced herself to endure the horrid noise of his artificial breaths, the metallic _whoosh_ of air that sounded like it belonged to a droid, not to Ani.

This was the first time she had seen him. The surgery had taken far too long, and she had spent countless hours pacing about just outside the operating room, tense and anxious. And now, here he was, standing in front of her, a thing she did not recognize and a thing she did not like.

"Padmé," he replied very slowly, his mechanical voice deep and menacing, and totally different from his real, soft voice. She briefly saw his shoulders sag almost imperceptivity, his back hunch up, recoiling from her. "Padmé, say something," he pleaded. "Anything."

What could she say? It was horrid. There was no sugar-coating it. "Anakin, I don't know what to say," she admitted, her voice small and with a desperate edge to it.

His body seemed to shrink under her gaze. "I'll leave," he bit out, and made to exit the room, but she launched forward and grasped his upper arm, the alloy limb swathed in dark leather.

"No!'" she protested. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was disgusted by him. She had to reassure him, to make him see that she still loved him with every fiber of her being. "Don't go," she requested softly. "Please, Ani."

He was still for a long moment, unsure and tentative. "That name-"

"Is who you are," she cut him off immediately, not wanting to hear his protests. "You're Anakin Skywalker, the man I love. You always have been and you always will be. No matter what happens." She did not take her eyes from those black orbs. She stared straight ahead, unwavering, and dared him to challenge her.

He was silent.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, stepping away from her. "It was you who decided to put me in this suit." It was not a question; it was an accusation. And she saw no point in lying.

"It's temporary," she assured him. "Your DNA has been sent to Kamino. As soon as new limbs and lungs can be cloned, it will come off." She smiled weakly. "I promise." Without waiting for him to comment any further, she stepped towards him again and carefully placed her hand on his shoulder. Stroking the soft leather, she asked, "Does it hurt?"

For a few tense seconds, his metallic breathing was the only sound that could be heard in the room. "Yes," he replied finally, his voice pitching low in what she assumed was an attempt to speak softly.

She shut her eyes against the onslaught of images that assaulted her; images of flesh shriveling and burning, flames crawling up a limp body, marring perfect skin…

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

She felt his gloved hand come up, briefly, fleetingly, and touch her cheek, so quick that she wondered whether or not it actually happened. "How can you stand to look at me?" he mumbled almost incoherently, and moved away. "To touch me?"

Padmé frowned. "Because of how you look now?" she questioned. "Ani, you know that doesn't matter to me-"

"No," he bit out, and then turned his masked face away from her. "After…what I did to you…on Mustafar."

Oh…_that._

Truly, after everything that had happened since then, she'd almost forgotten about it. However, it was obvious that he hadn't, and likely he wouldn't for a long time. "Anakin," she addressed him, using the soothing voice that had always managed to calm his demons. "I hated you for it at first, but after watching what happened to you…well, I can't be mad at you for anything."

"So that's why you're still here?" he choked out. "Pity?" She imagined his face screwing up into anger, his nostrils flaring and his blue eyes narrowing.

"No," she refused, and then thought better of it, and decided to be honest with him. "Yes…partly, anyway." She stepped closer, and again reached out and touched his shoulder. "But I'm mostly here because I love you," she admitted softly. "And because I need you." She took a deep breath. "Everything I know is gone. Democracy has been shattered, and the Senate is in shambles. The Jedi are dead. All I have left is you, and I don't intend on letting you go."

For a long moment, he seemed to absorb her words. He turned his body half-way around to face her, and his hand came up to rest upon her cheek again. "I'm not forcing you to stay," he told her, and she could tell that he hated conceding it. "You are free to leave. I'd understand-"

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" she challenged him. "I'm not going, Anakin. I won't leave you; I can't." She looked deep into his eyes—or, where she imagined his eyes would be—and spoke forcefully. "I love you," she told him. "And I will continue to say it until you begin to believe it."

He faltered for a moment. "Things won't be the same, Padmé," he informed her. "I'm not a Jedi anymore. It can't just go back to the way it was."

"I know," she told him. "But as long as I'm with you, none of that really matters."

She loved him. She would stay with him. And soon, she hoped, he would begin to believe it.

-:-:-:-:-

_To be continued…_


	5. Intolerable

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I finally figured out what I'm going to do with this story! Um, haha. I've been making this up as I go. Ha. But no more! Now I have THE PLAN. Wrote in Biology. Now I'm going to fail the quiz about neurotransmitters.

SO APPRECIATE THIS!

Ok?

Ok. Here's a longer chapter in compensation for the last one.

I'll shut up now.

-:-:-:-:-

Padmé was absolutely relieved when Dormé arrived.

Soon after her confrontation with Anakin, the Emperor had entered the room and asked to speak with her privately. She'd sat with him for a long time while he had explained Anakin's new medical needs, such as nutrition and sleep and such matters. It was then that she had realized that she would probably never be going home again. Anakin would be needing constant attention, and the medical supplies he needed were with Palpatine. Conclusively, Padmé would have to go wherever he would go.

Now she was residing in the Imperial Palace with the emperor of the galaxy and his second-in-command.

She'd asked that Dormé be allowed to live with them just last night, claiming that she needed the extra help, what with her being pregnant and such, and Palpatine had reluctantly agreed. And now, after two weeks, Dormé finally arrived with all the things from the apartment. Not much; some decent clothes, a few personal possessions, and all of her datapads. Padmé marveled at the swiftness with which she had adjusted to the nonmaterial lifestyle.

The Senator grinned and threw her arms around her handmaiden and friend, albeit somewhat awkwardly with her large belly. "Dormé!" she exclaimed happily. "How I've missed you!"

After a moment, her handmaiden pulled back and gave a small smile. "How have you been, my lady?" she questioned politely, her primary concern being her lady's well-being. "Are you all right? Is the baby ok?"

Padmé nodded. "We're fine, Dormé." She gave a small, sardonic chuckle. "Well, getting by, at least. Come in, please! I've been in this dress for a week and I feel absolutely filthy." She ushered the other woman inside the suite and shut the door behind her.

"It's very large," Dormé commented, sweeping her gaze critically over the spacious living space. "But do we really need all this space?"

Padmé shrugged. "Not really," she said by way of answer. She stopped herself from saying that she liked the large space because it made it easier to avoid Ani when he was in one of his moods. And over the past fourteen days, she'd seen him in every possible mood imaginable.

Dormé eyed her for a moment, then handed one of the bags she'd brought to Padmé. "This one's yours," she informed her. "Where's the bedroom?"

Padmé took her friend's arm and led her through the suite, noticing that it was indeed very spacious. It was very easy to get turned around in the twisting corridors of the apartment. Sometimes it took her several minutes to find her own room.

Once they reached the bedroom, the women began unpacking. Padmé could not express her gratitude to finally have some of her things with her again. Maybe, now that she had her clothes and Dormé was here, it would finally start to feel like a place worthy of the title 'home.'

She was lost in thoughts such as these when the killer question came.

"How's Anakin?"

Padmé froze from within the closet, where she'd been hanging up a dark blue dress. The tone of Dormé's voice told her that it was not a simple, polite inquiry. It was a very serious question, one which she probably wanted a very detailed answer to.

Quickly, she recovered herself. "Well," she began, placing the dress on the hanger. "He's been hurt." She hoped that maybe Dormé would see this as a tender subject and let it be at that.

"You already mentioned that on the comm. last night," Dormé pointed out accusingly. "What do you mean by 'hurt'?" Obviously, she wanted more.

Padmé winced at her handmaiden's straightforwardness. "It's bad," she replied slowly. "He had major surgery just two weeks ago."

Dormé curious face appeared in the doorway of the closet, hands on her hips and determination in her eyes. "What kind of surgery?" she pressed on.

Padmé sighed and stopped fussing with her clothing. "Dormé," she said firmly. "I was hoping to have this conversation with you later, but it appears that you won't rest until you get answers, so I'll be honest with you, Dormé. Anakin has turned to the darkside."

Dormé's brows furrowed, like in confusion, and her hand very slowly progressed upwards to cover her mouth. "What?" she whispered. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Padmé retorted, and tried to explain the situation as best as she could. "It turns out that the Emperor is a Sith Lord. He's been behind everything, Dormé; the war, the creation of the army, everything. After Count Dooku was killed, Anakin joined Palpatine." Padmé took a deep breath and forced the words to come out. "He killed the Jedi."

The color drained from her friend's face.

She held her hand to her heart as her jaw dropped, and slowly she sank down to the floor. "How could he?" she hissed to herself.

Padmé felt her heart go out to her handmaiden, and she slowly knelt down beside her. "Palpatine deceived him," she told her, and placed her hand on Dormé's arm. "He befriended him when Ani was just a little boy. My guess is that Palpatine saw his potential and began to foster Anakin's talents in his own ways." She shuddered briefly.

Dormé said nothing.

"I know how shocked you must be," Padmé tried to sympathize with her. "I just found out myself. Obi-Wan tried to tell me, but I wouldn't believe him. So I went looking for Anakin, and when I saw what he was capable of…well, then I believed." She sighed. "He hurt me. He thought I had betrayed him and he tried to choke me."

Dormé's head snapped up at that. "He tried to _choke _you?" she cried, and jumped up. "Padmé, what are you still doing here?" she questioned harshly. "How can you stay with him after that? How?!"

She sighed tiredly, wishing she could make her friend understand. "Because I saw when he was hurt," she whispered, and leaned her head back into the wall, closing her eyes. "I saw Obi-Wan immolate him."

She could almost feel the heat of the lava on her face. She could taste the ashes in the air and smell the odor of sulfur. She could hear Anakin's screams.

"Anakin rolled down the hill, screaming," she continued, a lump of emotion rising in her throat. "He was lying there, so limp, like he was about to pass out. I could _feel_ his pain, Dormé. Force, just _thinking_ about it hurts so much." She swallowed. "He was so close to the lava…the flames caught onto his clothes. He has third-degree burns all over his body. He can't breathe on his own or eat on his own, or feel the air on his face or even see me with his own eyes. He's in a life-support suit now. And no matter what, he'll never be the same."

She opened her eyes, and saw Dormé gazing at her, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I can't leave him," Padmé choked, and squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. "Believe me, I know I should. I've seen what he can do…what he is now. He can kill and torture and he can do it without a second thought. But after seeing him hurt like that…" She trailed off and took a deep breath. "I have to keep hoping, Dormé. I have to keep praying that the Anakin I know will come back to me. That, and the baby, are all I have left."

Padmé kept her eyes closed for a long time, just trying to keep herself from crying. She'd thought she had no more tears left to shed, but it appeared that she still did. Finally, after that tense moment of silence, she felt Dormé's arms go around her, comforting her.

"I'm so sorry, Padmé," she whispered into her lady's ear. "I'm so sorry." She stayed there with her, rocking the sobbing, pregnant woman until the tears stopped falling.

-:-:-:-:-

Two hours later, they heard Anakin at the door.

Padmé's head snapped up from the datapad she was reading and frantically met Dormé's eyes. She herself was used to an emotional Sith Lord coming home from his physical therapy, but her friend was not. She hoped Dormé would be able to adjust. She'd not seen him in the suit, yet, after all.

Dormé gave her a reassuring smile, and nodded. Padmé was relieved.

"Come on," she said, putting the datapad down. "Let's get this over with." She very slowly managed to hoist her very heavy body out of the seat she was reclining it. Cursing her immobility, she hoped to herself that the baby would be born soon, because she was beginning to tire of being pregnant. Well, she was eight months along. It would not be far off now.

With her friend at her side, she made her way towards the front of the apartment, where Anakin would be. Bracing herself, she prepared herself for the worst.

He soon came into view.

He was standing, black armor gleaming underneath the lights of the suite, just in front of the door, looking curiously at his left arm and moving it around in a strange, experimental fashion. He noticed them very quickly.

"Dormé," his mechanical voice boomed. "I…didn't know you would be here so soon."

Dormé composed herself immediately, and Padmé could not stop the swell of pride in her at that. "Well, I wanted to be here for Mistress Padmé."

Anakin looked at her for a moment longer, then turned to face his wife. "Padmé, I need to speak with you," he said in a tone of voice that indicated it wasn't a request. "Privately."

Padmé swallowed a thick lump in her throat, and spared a glance in Dormé's direction. "Would you excuse us?" she asked, and she was sure her voice trembled.

Dormé lowered her head. "Yes, my lady," and quickly stepped from the room.

Leaving the two of them alone.

Padmé pulled her tangled hair away from her neck and looked into the deep orbs of an expressionless face. "What do you need to talk to me about?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

He looked at her a moment longer before replying. "Padmé, you're eight months along in your pregnancy, aren't you?" he asked slowly.

She narrowed her eyes. "Yes, I am," she answered quickly. "What are you getting at?" She shifted her feet and refused to look away from his face.

He sighed, the noise sounding extremely foreign through his mechanical oxygen mask. "I think you should rest more often," he told her, stepping closer to her. "You look more tired every day, and well, with the baby on the way…I just don't want to take any unnecessary risks."

Padmé sighed, exasperated. Would he ever let that damned dream of his go? "How many times do I have to tell you?" she snapped. "I'm _fine_-"

"I _know that,_" he hissed back, coming to a halt directly in front of her and gazing down at her, his breaths landing on her face, tickling her nose. "But I can't lose you, Padmé," he said in a low voice, moving his hand up to cup her cheek. "Not now. Not after everything that's happened."

Sith Lord that he was, she could still hear the barely suppressible fear in his voice, could detect the tremor in his hand. Her heart feeling heavy, she reached her own hand up and forced it to grasp his upon her cheek, holding it to her. She closed her eyes and whispered, "You won't lose me. You have to believe me, Anakin. It's not healthy to live like this. Your fear is eating away at you from the inside, hindering your judgment. You can't go on like this."

She meant her words to be soft and gently advising, but they had the opposite effect on her temperamental husband. Immediately, he stepped away from her, as if disgusted. "Perhaps you should keep such opinions to yourself," he snapped at her, and made for the front door. "The Emperor's asked me to meet with him. I just came home to tell you that you need to take it easy." The door swished open with the mere will of his mind. "Heed my words, Padmé. They will do you well."

And with that, he was gone.

Padmé let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and sighed. Until she could prove to him that she would be all right, he'd continue to act this way. Like Vader. Not Anakin.

She was beginning to miss his blue gaze and his soft, loving voice.

Pushing such maudlin thoughts aside, she went to speak with Dormé, and reluctantly noted that the next month would probably be the longest, most intolerable month of her life.

-:-:-:-:-

_To be continued…_


	6. Gilded Cage

I have decided that lots of reviews can make a pretty sucky day a really fantastical day.

Please; keep 'em coming.

-:-:-:-:-

Padmé jerked awake one night at approximately three in the morning.

Irritated at being roused from her much-needed sleep, she attempted to roll over into a more comfortable position and drift back into her world of dreams, but the sound of a loud crash halted her.

She sat up, and made her ears pay proper attention.

It was Anakin.

She could hear his muffled sounds of frustration, the sound of glass shattering. Concerned, she made to get out of bed, but then stopped herself when a new thought ran through her mind.

_Mustafar._

Momentarily startled at her own thought, she paused.

It had been weeks since she'd thought of that. In fact, she'd pushed it so far back into her memory that often times she forgot it had even happened. But it had happened, hadn't it? He had choked her. And, she shuddered to think, he could have killed her if it hadn't been for Obi-Wan.

More glass shattered, and she would have been lying if she'd said that she didn't want to go out there and soothe his demons.

Another cry.

Would he hurt her again? She knew to stay away from him when he was angry, but angry or not, he was her husband. She wanted to help him. Her presence had always been soothing to him—would he accept her help?

A part of her warned her against going out there, against meeting Anakin's fury and uncontrollable temper, but the larger portion of her screamed to get out of bed, see what was happening.

So with a groan, she slipped out of the covers and padded down the hallway, into the common area where she could hear him roaming about, shattering things with the mere will of his mind. And indeed, when she found him, he was surrounded by shards of broken glass, his fists clenched tight, his mechanical breathing labored. He was facing away from her, his shoulders trembling.

She took a tentative step towards him. "Anakin?" she said softly.

She saw the way his body tensed, saw the way it recoiled from her. "Go back to bed, Padmé," he ordered. His voice was monotone and cold, devoid of emotion.

Often times he came home from his meetings with Palpatine with volatile emotions; usually he walked through the door stumbling and weak, like a ghost of some sort, like he had just witnessed a thousand unspeakable horrors (but truthfully, Padmé preferred not to think about that). But never this raw, powerful, emotional scene, fear and anger in his stance. So she stayed, and pressed him further.

"Anakin, what's the matter?" she asked again, stepping closer.

He stayed facing away from her. "Padmé, go to sleep," he told her again, and the fingers of his right hand flexed. "It's nothing. You need your sleep."

She came closer to him, until she was standing directly behind him. "I know," she replied nonchalantly. "But something's wrong with you, and I'm not leaving until I know what it is."

He groaned. "You wouldn't understand," he snapped at her, and stepped further from away. He was a frightened animal to be approached with extreme caution. And a stubborn one at that.

Something in her snapped at that.

For weeks, she'd been tiptoeing around him, always reminding herself that this would be temporary, that it was not yet time to help him. He often said things that enraged her or made her gape in horror, but those moments were forgotten when he would break down and become the needy child searching desperately for comfort. In those moments, Anakin was before her. But Vader was never far off, a cruel Sith Lord with unimaginable powers. And she knew that in this moment, it was the latter that she faced.

The next words flew out of her mouth uncontrollably.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You're right," she told him coldly. "I don't know anything about murdering innocent children. That's your area of expertise."

She didn't even have time to see it coming.

With a deafening _smack!_ his palm connected painfully with the side of Padmé's face, and she was propelled backwards, landing with twisted limbs on the cold floor.

The sting on her face was unbearable.

Before she could even register what had happened, he was beside her, grasping her arms, lifting her into a sitting position. Tears of anger and fear and humiliation were streaming uncontrollably down her face. She could hardly believe that he had just done that.

"Padmé, I'm sorry," he told her as she held the side of her face in excruciating pain. She looked up into his mask, wishing acutely she could see his face, so she could see the blue of his eyes.

A darker part of her spoke up. _Would his eyes be blue? _it taunted. _Or Sith yellow, seething with anger, as they were when he hurt you?_

She immediately shut those thoughts out of her mind.

Padmé said nothing, but felt her heart bursting into a million pieces as he helped her to her feet. She was too stunned and hurt to even protest. She simply stood there in his grasp, unable to speak.

_Stupid!_ her mind chanted at her. After what he did to her on Mustafar, she should have known better.

He kept mumbling mindless apologies, trying his best to appear truly contrite. Padmé, wanting only to escape into the safety of her room, regained her voice and came to his defense.

"It's all right," she assured him quickly, though she felt like she was about to empty the contents of her stomach as she heard herself justify his actions. Had it even happened? Was she dreaming? "You were angry. I shouldn't have provoked you like that." Her words were jumbled and disorganized, running into each other, stringing together barely coherent sentences. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. You're right; I should have gone to bed. I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll leave right now."

Without further ado, she freed herself from Vader's arms and fled to the safety of her bedroom, where she shut herself in her closet.

She sat there for a very long time in the darkness of her closet, hiding like a coward. She was disgusted with herself for acting like this; passive, frail, and afraid. A month ago she would have forced herself to get up, get out there, and slap some sense into her self-righteous husband. Now, she hardly had the strength to even try. Maybe it wasn't just Anakin who had changed; maybe she had, too.

It took her along time before she finally allowed herself to cry; to admit that this was going to be a lot more difficult than she had initially thought.

-:-:-:-:-

The next morning, she decided that she needed to get out of the apartment.

It had been far too long since she'd interacted with anyone besides Anakin and Dormé. Padmé was a social person; she needed to be around other people, to engage in conversation and observe the creatures of the universe.

The luxurious suite which was now her home was beginning to feel like an exquisite, gilded cage.

She dressed in rich fabrics, drank from goblets of red wine, indulged in exotic foods and slept upon a bed made of feathers. But there was no freedom.

She called Dormé into the bedroom. She immediately appeared in the doorway, already dressed and wide awake.

"Yes, my lady?" she greeted her mistress, even though Padmé constantly reminded her that such formalities were unnecessary.

"Dormé, I think I would like very much to go out and have lunch," she informed her handmaiden. "How does that sound?" She left out the part about wanting to leave the apartment for the sole purpose of getting away from her husband.

The woman faltered for a moment. "Um, that sounds nice," she admitted. "But my lady, you are nearly to term, and Master Anakin would probably not like you going out with the baby due so soon-"

To hell with what Anakin wanted.

"Nonsense," Padmé protested. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid. Need I remind you that you flew your own ship all the way from Coruscant to Naboo when you were nine months pregnant?" She looked at Dormé pointedly.

Dormé smiled. "In the interest of protecting you, my lady," she retorted. "Which is hardly the same thing as a luncheon excursion. Besides, I didn't say that _I _wouldn't like it; I said that Anakin wouldn't."

She shrugged. "He'll just have to deal with it," she said dismissively. "Now, help me out of bed. I'm heavy enough to have swallowed a bantha."

Dormé chuckled in amusement and helped her lady from the bed. Padmé dressed in dark red gowns that flared out gracefully from her waist, and pulled her hair back into a simple knot. After donning her heavy cloak, she was ready.

Dormé and Padmé were just about to the front door when a deep, menacing voice halted any further movement.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

Both woman silenced, and turned around to face the tall, looming figure of Darth Vader.

Dormé shrunk into the background as the meek handmaiden, and Padmé spoke up in a senatorial tone. "We're going out for lunch," she informed him. "It's been ages since I've done something entertaining and I need the fresh air."

As she had expected, he immediately disagreed. "Go out on the veranda if you need fresh air," he told her. "But I'll not have you out and about in the condition you're in."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, but last time I checked, I was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. I can do what I please, Anakin."

"No," he replied simply. "You will stay here."

"I _won't_."

"You will, or I'll-"

"You'll what, Anakin?" she snapped at him, and lowered her voice several octaves. "Hit me?" she spoke pointedly.

He faltered at that, and took a step back.

Realizing she had won, she smiled coldly at him. "We'll be back in a few hours," she said, and ushered herself and her friend out of the apartment.

Walking down the hallway, she thought to herself, _being in this suit is destroying him. This has to stop._

She vowed to make sure that it would.

Determination foremost in her mind, Padmé made a mental note to send a transmission to Kamino.

-:-:-:-:-

_To be continued…_


	7. Aware

**Hi! Oh my gosh, I realize I've taken dreadfully long to update and I'm so sorry! I kind of drifted away from Padmé/Anakin for a while and was starting to get into Luke/Mara, and I completely forgot about this story! I truly hope I haven't lost all my readers! But thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter.**

**I will also now start replying to reviews. I realize I've been a bit lax on that, LOL. Thank you for all your kind words!**

**Onto the chapter. I realize it's rather short but the next one will be where the action really begins, so, I need to save up my energy for that. LOL.**

-:-:-:-:-

Padmé's first matter of business was getting Anakin out of that suit—and quickly.

On her outing with Dormé, she had become achingly aware of the barrier that lay between her and her husband; and it was that blasted suit. It was Vader's fortress, where he could shield those blue eyes from her and ensure that she couldn't see what he was feeling. It would be nearly impossible to reach him in there, a broken, battered body inside his protective shell. That's really all it was, anymore; a shell. Sometimes she would forget that a man lived in there, a man that she had once touched and caressed and held within the circle of her arms.

As soon as she returned to the apartment—where Anakin was not present—she marched straight to the comm. center, intent on pestering those Kaminoans into speeding up the cloning process a bit. They had created an entire grand army in ten years, after all—surely they could produce a few limbs much quicker than this.

"Hello, Senator Amidala," came a pleasant, cultured voice over the comm., accompanying a thin, elegant humanoid face with wide set eyes. "What an unexpected surprise. It's been a long time; how are you?" The humanoid smiled warmly and touched his lips with his long, elegant fingers.

Padmé mustered what she hoped was a friendly smile. "Prime Minister Lama Su," she greeted the man. She had spoken with him once or twice before during the Clone Wars, and he'd always been a courteous and polite man with impeccable manners. "It's good to see you; I am well, thank you. However, I'm afraid I don't have time to chat; there's a rather urgent matter at hand that I must discuss with you."

Lama Su immediately straightened in his seat and put on his business face. "Of course, Senator. What can I help you with?"

Padmé took a breath. "I'd like to know if there's anything we can do to speed up the cloning process for Ana-" she stopped herself, and took a deep breath. "For Lord Vader's new limbs and lungs. The medic informed me that it could take up to a year, but Lord Vader's health is in jeopardy and I would really rather have his new limbs as soon as-"

"Senator," Lama Su interrupted her, his face solemn. "Please forgive me, but I'm afraid I am not sure what you're talking about," he apologized slowly. "Lord Vader is in need of new limbs?"

Padmé blinked. "Of course," she assured him, though her voice was wavering. "The Emperor told me so himself. He said he had sent Lord Vader's DNA to your facility." This was absurd. How could the Prime Minister forget such an order?

Lama Su eyed her for a moment. "I'm terribly sorry, but I don't believe that such an order was placed," he told her in his soothing voice, his hands coming together to fold in his lap.

Padmé felt as if her heart had suddenly stopped working, and her stomach was fluttering uncontrollably. "No, you must be mistaken, Prime Minister," she declared, and barely heard her voice pitch an octave higher. "Perhaps Taun We was overseeing the order; I didn't realize you might not know. May I please speak with Taun We?"

Lama Su began to look extremely uncomfortable. "Senator-"

"Taun We will know," she said, starting to talk faster and faster. "Please, let me speak with her. It's extremely important. The order was placed, I'm sure of it. I'll just need to speak with her and everything will be fine."

The Prime Minister stopped her babbling and looked at her harshly. "Senator," he said in a slow, firm voice. "I've just checked the records. No such order has been placed. I am sure of it."

Padmé blinked again.

"I'm sorry," Lama Su offered, looking at her warily. "But the order was not placed. I'm afraid the technology to clone individual parts of a species has not even been perfected yet—we've been working on it, but no attempts have been successful."

Padmé stared. And she stared.

The humanoid leaned closer to the comm. station. "Senator?"

Rage.

She felt terrible, all consuming, incomparable rage, racing through her veins, making her heart pump faster and faster. Without bothering to bid Lama Su farewell, she reached over and deactived the comm. Slowly, very carefully, she stood, her eyes trained on the wall ahead of her. Looking down at her hands, she realized that they were shaking.

He'd lied to her.

Such technology wasn't available yet. This whole time, nothing had been done to help Anakin's condition. Palpatine had flat out lied to her. Anakin wasn't getting help. He probably never would. He was going to stay in that suit for the rest of his life.

Padmé cried out and clenched her fists, helplessly. No…no. This was wrong. This was a lie. None of this was real.

As her mind reeled, her body began to wildly malfunction. Her lungs flew away like a bird and her stomach slithered away like a snake. Her ears went deaf. Her muscles starting shivering as if she had malaria and her knees began to shake like they were dancing. Her heart strained against the cage of her ribs and her vision began to swim in and out of focus. Every part of her, in the manner most suited to it, fell apart.

But then the rage began to recede, leaving her dizzy and weak. Now instead of anger, she felt terrible, awful shame; shame and guilt. This was her fault. _Her_ fault. This was _all_ her fault. This was no longer about the suit—no, this was something much deeper. How could she have not seen this coming? The lies and deceit and Anakin's desperate fight for sanity—how could she have not known?

No. The sad truth was that she _had_ known; she had just chosen not to see it.

And now they were paying the price. They all were. The entire galaxy. Everything was lost to her. Because she hadn't seen it, or hadn't wished to see it, her entire life was in shambles. Nothing would ever be the same again. Nothing.

She'd seen the darkness in Anakin ever since that day she comforted him in the Lars' garage. A part of her, deep down and dormant, had _known._ She'd seen the terrible, terrible demons within his soul, seen the way that they slowly ate away at him, fueling his doubts, feeding the flame that was his anger. She'd seen his temper, terrible, dark, and unstoppable, and had been achingly aware of what he was capable of. But the rest of her, the part that loved Anakin, the part that desperately wished not to see what had been coming, had denied it, had violently pushed the thought aside and pretended it had never happened.

And now she knew. Oh, how she knew; how appallingly aware she was now.

Padmé fell to her knees, a raw cry escaping from her throat. Oh, the fragility of life. Everything could be ripped away from you in a single, dark moment of decision. She was sobbing, screaming in despair, and there was nothing to catch her. Dimly, she realized that Dormé was beside her, frantically calling her name, but she hardly noticed. In fact, so consumed was she by these thoughts, that when her midsection went into painful spasms and a cool wetness ran down her leg, she didn't acknowledge it. Instead, she slumped to the ground and allowed darkness to soothe and numb her tortured mind.

-:-:-:-:-

_To be continued…_


	8. Staying Sane

**Uhm, hi.**

**Well, I suppose I have a lot of explaining to do. **

**I realize that at this point, it's highly likely that I have lost roughly 87% of the people who used to follow this story, with good reason. It's been 4 years since an update, and that's a ridiculous amount of time. I got caught up in life. Boyfriends, friendships, graduating high school, starting college...everything has changed. But I've started reading fanfiction again...and I realized...I MISS this.**

**So if there's anyone out there who still cares, I could use some support treading into what feels like new territory.**

**My sincerest apologies. It's been so long since I've written, but I hope someone out there finds this not completely terrible.**

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Padmé woke slowly.

Her eyelids felt immensely heavy atop her bone-dry eyes, and her throat felt parched and hoarse, as if she had been screaming. Bits and pieces of her body entered her awareness slowly. Limp limbs. Heavy head. Trembling fingers. Aching back.

Padmé sat up, and gasped, her eyes wide open.

Her hands flew to her stomach, only to be met with drooping emptiness. _No, _her mind screamed at her. _No, no, no, no._

Dimly, she registered a frantic beeping to her left. Her eyes took in stark white walls and wires hung like jungle vines over her bed. She heard the sound of a door swish open, but her mind was blank with terror.

"Senator Amidala," came a distressed, female voice. Padmé turned her head towards the entrance of the room, where an elderly human woman stood, clad in a white jumpsuit. The woman hurriedly rushed to her side, to a machine besides Padmé's bed, where she now realized the beeping had been coming from.

"Where is he?" Padmé hissed, unconcerned about anything besides the aching emptiness in her womb. "Where is my baby?"

"I know it must be confusing," the woman muttered, adjusting the machine until that beeping noise finally ceased. "Please try to stay calm. Everything is all right."

Padmé felt her fury increase at the placating words. "_My baby," _she said forcefully, stopping the woman in her tracks and forcing her to meet her cold gaze.

The woman peered into Padmé's eyes for a brief moment before speaking tiredly. "Senator, your…baby is just fine," she assured her, and Padmé felt all the tense muscles in her body relax. "I'm not sure you remember much of what happened, but you were brought here about 3 days ago. You went into premature labor, and we had to operate quickly." The woman—a doctor or some sort of medical technition, Padmé reasoned—spoke briskly as Padmé tried to absorb the outpouring of information that was slaughtering her still muggy senses. "Though we do have a bit of interesting news for you," she added, eyeing Padmé carefully.

"What is it?" Padmé asked, working around the hoarseness in her voice. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," the older woman was quick to assure her. "Nothing of immediate concern. I am surprised that you weren't aware, but you have a healthy baby boy. And a healthy baby girl."

Padmé felt her breath hitch in her throat, her hands automatically brushing against her stomach. "Two?" she breathed stupidly.

"Twins," the other woman affirmed. "A boy and a girl. They're resting in the ICU, as they were both a little on the small side. But please try not to worry. They're in excellent health, all things considering. We will simply have to monitor them for a bit longer to make sure development is going smoothly."

Despite everything, Padmé could not stop the smile that spread across her face. She'd been carrying _twins _all this time. A boy and a girl-

Her thoughts were stopped short as a sharp pain flared in her abdomen, causing her to moan and double over in pain. She was dimly aware of the medic urging her to lie on her back. Through the discomfort, she felt the prick of a needle through the delicate skin on the back of her hand, near her wrist.

"Try not to move," the medic instructed her. "The pain should subside in a few moments. I've reattached your IV."

True to the doctor's word, Padmé felt the tightness in her stomach decrease. When she was able to regain her voice, she choked out, "Is that normal?"

The woman beside her struggled for words. "There were a few complications," she said delicately. "During your surgery, you began to bleed out. We…" she trailed off, her expression wary, her voice uneasy.

Padmé felt her stomach drop a bit at the odd look on the doctor's face. "Am I going to be all right?" she asked, trying to still the tremor in her hand.

"Yes," the woman answered, somewhat breathless. "We—the surgical team—we had…nearly given up on you. You were bleeding too fast for us to control, and your heart had stopped. But…his Excellency…he insisted to be let in," she attempted to explain, her words jumbled. "He…did something, Senator. Something beyond my medical understanding, or rational explanation. He healed you. The bleeding stopped entirely and your heart rate returned. It was as if nothing had happened."

Padmé felt her heart constrict.

Memories from the past months quickly flooded back into consciousness, and suddenly, she was aware of everything that had occurred up until this point. Mustafar. Fire. Surgery. Pain. Fear. She felt her control wavering as everything came to a culmination; a shocking realization that Anakin had been _right._

"I almost died," she stated, her voice distant, sounding disconnected from her own body. "I almost died and Palpatine brought me back." The words were so surreal in her mouth.

The woman's face expressed every emotion that Padmé was trying so hard to control. "Yes," she spoke softly. "For reasons none of us understand, you—and your children—are well and alive."

Tears were streaming down her face. Tears of relief, first and foremost, that her children were safe and alive. But tears, secondly, because she was afraid. Padmé Amidala, senator of the Republic, former Queen of Naboo, was deathly, uncontrollably afraid. With each passing moment her world was spinning more and more out of control, plunging into the unknown.

She was afraid, and she was uncertain.

Exhausted, confused, and despondent, she drifted away back into unconsciousness.

-:-:-:-

_2 months later…_

"Your sulking tires me."

Padmé lifted heavy eyes from the tile beneath her feet, and forced them to focus on the figure before her; tall, black, encased in leather and metal, insect-like orbs focused on her. Time did not alter the effect that his new body had on his wife. Though he remained unchanging from day to day, her eyes saw him as if it were the first time. Each reaction was just as violent, just as disgusted, and today was no different. She could form no reply to his complaint, and merely sunk deeper into her chair.

"Padmé," his mechanical voice boomed. "Stop this. I won't tolerate this behavior from you anymore."

"Then do something about it," Padmé spat dejectedly, tired of fighting. Tired of his demands. Tired of his suffocating presence.

"Don't tempt me," he hissed, and Padmé had known Vader long enough to know that he meant it. His hand clamped down on her arm, pulling her roughly to her feet. "In case you've forgotten, you have two children to attend to. Perhaps if you fought through this pathetic depression, your children would learn to be comforted by your presence and not cry every time you entered the room."

Disgusted, both by his touch and by his words, she pulled her arm from his grasp and stepped away from him. "Don't pretend they don't do the same to you," she spat, not caring that her words were careless.

Anakin's fists clenched, and his body visibly became tense. "I always used to admire your control, Padmé," Anakin said, his words slow and deliberate. "The way you so calmly held your composure, regardless of the situation. You're acting like a child, now, disrespectful and obstinate. You're making this harder than it has to be."

Padmé averted his gaze, and saw no point in rebutting his words. "I'm going to bed," she muttered, dejected and numb.

Anakin once again clamped down on her shoulder, his hand like steel. "We are not done discussing this," he hissed, his forced breaths landing in her curls, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Please, Anakin," she pleaded, clenching her eyelids shut, as if she could wish this all away with sheer force of will. "I promise we will talk about this later. I just need rest."

After a moment, Anakin's hand relaxed on her shoulder, lingering for an awkward moment before ultimately pulling away. "Fine," he spoke finally. "I have a meeting with his Excellency. I'll be back tonight. Be prepared to discuss it then." She listened to the sound of his heavy steps until he was all the way out of the apartment.

Numbly, she wandered down the dim hallway to her bedroom. Technically, it was the nursery, but she so often snuck away from her room in the middle of the night that she considered the nursery her bedroom now.

She pushed open the door, and approached the crib which held her two babies. Leaning against the railing, she fixated her gaze on her children.

They were so small.

Padmé reached out to brush the boy's face. His father had chosen their names, despite Padmé's protests; the boy was called Cadeius, and the girl was Odile. But here, with their father gone, she had her own little names for them, softer names, more dear to her motherly heart. She swept up the small boy into her arms, and seated herself on the floor, back against the crib.

"Hello, little Luke," she whispered, admiring his soft baby skin and his inquisitive eyes. "See? You don't always cry in my presence." She adjusted hi s blanket around his body, marveling at how tiny he was. "You can just tell when Mommy is sad," she continued, as his eyes fixated themselves on her face. His face contorted, as if showing his displeasure.

She held him silently for a few somber moments, focusing her gaze on the setting sun of the bustling Coruscant skyline outside the wide window. Standing slowly, she carried her child to the window, and opened in, so that the cool breeze caressed his face.

Suddenly, tears brimmed in her eyes, threatening to overflow. "I'm sorry, baby," she whispered, clutching Luke tight against her heart. "I'm sorry that this is the world you've been born into. I'm sorry that this is the life you have."

The tears came steadily, and she went back to place Luke inside his crib, next to his fussy sister, Leia, who could now sense her mother's unhappiness. Padmé caressed each of their faces, lovingly, before stumbling into the hall, where she let her sobs escape her throat.

She slumped against the wall, her heart broken into a thousand pieces. She thought of her children, being brought up under the rule of a dark Sith Lord. She thought of her husband, the man she still loved, the man who'd once been her world, and who'd then destroyed it in the blink of an eye. She wanted to love him, she truly did. But the truth had slowly sunk into her since the birth of her children; her husband was gone.

How she wished she could leave him. She wanted to pack her things and run to the farthest corner of the galaxy, where Palpatine's rule could not reach. But how could she abandon her children to a fate that only held darkness? How could she give up on their lives before they'd even had a chance to truly live?

She had to remain here, to protect them. She could not think of a way in which she and her children could reasonably escape from underneath the noses of Vader and Palpatine, who saw everything.

When her tears had subsided, she wiped her face upon her sleeve, pushing her unwashed hair from her eyes. Dimly, she heard Luke and Leia crying from within their nursery, unsettled at the waves of despair they felt rolling from their mother. Had two babies ever cried so much as these two had?

"Dormé," she called, unable to tend to their wounds, knowing her presence would do nothing to soothe them while she was in this state. "Dormé?"

Her tired handmaiden shuffled into the hallway. "I'll tend to them, my lady," she assured Padmé, brushing her face tenderly as she went to calm the twins.

Padmé went to sleep.

-:-:-:-

"My lady," a voice came, accompanied by a shaking feeling. "Wake up, my lady, please."

Padmé slowly opened her eyes, and groggily fixated them upon her handmaiden's distressed face. "What is it, Dormé?"

"It's him," she whispered, her eyes bright and alert. "He's home and he's insisting he speak with you. He's upset, my lady, I didn't know what to tell him-"

Hurriedly, Padmé forced the heaviness to leave her sleepy body as she rose from her bed. "It's all right, Dormé," she said softly, quickly pulling a robe over her nightdress. "I'm going to take care of it." She had begun to sweep her hair into a presentable style, but paused when she heard the sound of muffled tears.

"Dormé," she breathed, facing her handmaiden, watching as her eyes stained her wrinkled face with tears. "Don't cry," she murmured, and brought her friend into the circle of her arms. "What's the matter?"

Dormé embraced her tightly. "I'm worried for you, Padmé," she whispered fervently, so unusually informal. "Don't think I didn't see him hit you," she went on, her voice rising in anger and frustration. "Don't think I don't know about the way he speaks to you, or how he looks at the children. He's not the same Anakin, I'm so afraid he will hurt us."

Padmé stroked Dormé's hair, trying desperately to maintain her composure. "He won't touch you," she promised. "And I'll die before he touches Luke and Leia," she swore, knowing those words could be more true and literal than the expression intended. Pulling back, she brushed tears from the crying woman's face. "Everything's falling apart, Dormé," she spoke softly. "I'm not going to pretend it's not. Everything's going to _hell. _But if you and I don't stay sane through this, we are not going to make it. Do you hear me? We won't make it."

Dormé nodded through her tears. "Do you know what you're doing?" she asked, her eyes challenging. "Do you have a plan?"

Padmé shut her eyes, her jaw clenching. "We'll think of something," she insisted, hoping the words would make it real. "We have to."

Padmé held on to her friend for only a moment longer before leaving her room to face her husband.

From the moment she laid eyes on him, she could see that he was temperamental. His posture was hostile, and he was pacing erratically on the veranda overlooking the night sky. His helmet glistened with all the lights of the city, and his cloak billowed behind him like a dark cloud. Again, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, this man who had power over everything.

"Padmé," he said when he saw her, and stilled his movements. "We must speak."

She pulled her robe more tightly around her body, trying to ward off the cold that she wasn't sure real. "You're shaking," she stated quietly.

He paused momentarily, but ignored her comment. "Palpatine and I spoke tonight about our arrangements," he said simply, approaching his wife. "Things are going to change around here."

Padmé felt her stomach drop to her knees, a strange sense of foreboding coming over her. "In what way?" she inquired carefully, afraid to hear the answer.

"His Excellency is concerned about the education of Odile and Cadeius," he informed her, his tone frustratingly even with that damned droid voice of his. "He is concerned that they are being raised to follow…the old ways," he stumbled over the words, "of the Jedi. He thinks it important that he closely monitor their proper education."

Padmé felt her jaw drop. "The babies are only two months old," she spoke pointedly. "All they know how to do is eat and sleep. How could we possibly be corrupting them?"

Anakin took a moment to respond. "It is not I that his Excellency is concerned about," he spoke, choosing his words cautiously. "His Excellency is worried that your…political and personal background may affect their upbringing."

Padmé felt her blood drain from her face at his words. "Of course he does," she hissed, underneath her breath, feeling panic rising to the surface. "That-"

"You will do well to respect my _master,_" he interjected before she could say something careless. "He does not wish for the children to be separate from their mother. He knows the devastating effects that that may have," Anakin reasoned, and for a moment, Padmé remembered his tender vulnerability.

"Do you honestly think that he is looking out for the good of our children?" she challenged him, forcing herself to stare him in the face. "Palpatine-"

"His Excellency has never wanted anything but the best for me," Anakin hissed, his tone dark. "Don't you start questioning him, too. He's the only one who's stood by me, in everything. Even my own wife has not been so supportive."

Padmé knew when it was wise to close her mouth.

"I'm tired of trying to acquiesce your requests, Padmé," he spat at her. "I've been as accommodating as I can be, and I'm through with it. I only obey is Excellency. You, my _dear, _are my wife. And you will listen to what I say." Anakin swept past her, grasping her wrist as he did so. "We are moving to the Imperial Palace in five days. I will be expecting your cooperation."

And with that, he was gone.

Padmé's hand came to rest on her heart, and she slowly sank into her chair, knowing that they had finally reached the point where things had to change.


	9. King of Everything

**It was great to see that there are still some people out there who are interested in my little story! Thank you for the reviews. Please, keep them coming. I would really love to hear some ideas of where you would like to see this story go next.**

**Without further ado, the next chapter. Please see author's notes at the end! Happy reading.  
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-:-:-:-

The first time that Padmé's consciousness extended beyond the confines of her small, broken world, she was shocked at what she saw.

She'd been out once, maybe twice, since the events on Mustafar, and even then, she'd not dared to venture far from her apartment building, unwilling to incite her husband's wrath.

Now, as she traveled in the small, comfortable speeder throughout the once flourishing district of 500 Republica, she could not help but mourn for the world she had once dreamed of saving.

When Padmé had become Queen, she had been a mere fourteen years of age, a child in so many ways, but her strength had been her passion for her people and for her country. She had possessed an innate sense of social justice; her heart had cried out at the misfortune of others, and she had longed to save and redeem each and every one of them.

Though her political views were idealistic in nature, they had not changed as she aged. Senator Amidala had once been a beacon of hope in the Republic, a principled woman who would fight with her very last breath to protect the rights of the people. She had believed that she had the power to make lasting change.

Things were so different now.

Even in 500 Republica, the most affluent sector of the galaxy, things were in ruin. There were vagabonds and pariahs, hungrily roaming the streets, living on corners and sleeping under the shadows of tall skyscrapers. The Emperor no longer cared for the wellbeing of his people, though it was clear now that that had never been of importance to him. But with his new position of absolute power, there was no need to pursue a false agenda. It had only been a few months, but it was already evident in the city that Palpatine had new plans for this world he had constructed.

Padmé pressed her hand to the glass of the speeder window, as if she could reach out and touch all of Coruscant, heal them all with sheer force of will. But she knew that she was no longer their savior. Bitterly, she realized she never had been.

Padmé never forgot who it was that had placed Palpatine where he was today. She never failed to remember who had supported him in his campaign for Chancellor, who had toiled endlessly to make sure his bills were passed, who had believed first and foremost that he would ultimately bring peace to the galaxy.

Without Padmé, Palpatine would have never come to power.

And without Palpatine, Anakin never would have turned.

It seemed juvenile and egotistic to pinpoint the fall of an entire society on a single being's existence, but it seemed similarly wrong to ignore the fact that she had participated so actively in creating this world that she now wished fervently she could escape.

She had once been a warrior. She had once taken on droid armies and Sith Lords, Trade Federations and corrupt viceroys. She had once fought for justice.

Now, she was nothing more than a frail, weak wife, trapped in a hopeless situation, selfishly hiding out from the rest of the galaxy.

Leia cooed softly in her arms, bringing her mind back to the present reality. Padmé's eyes drifted over the face of her child, this being that she had created. Her eyes were heavy with tears as she realized that, in spite of everything she had lost, in spite of all her spectacular failures and endless shortcomings, these babies had still come into the world, alive and unharmed.

And that alone gave her hope that there was good left in the world, and that it was worth fighting for.

"My lady," Dormé said softly, pulling Padmé from her troubled thoughts. "We're here."

-:-:-:-

"Senator Amidala."

Padmé felt bile rise in her throat, and had to will her body not to tremble.

Not more than twenty minutes after she arrived in her new quarters, one of Palpatine's bodyguards had come to inform her that her presence was requested in his office. She'd dressed in her senatorial robes and had made her way to the center of the Imperial Palace with confidence, but now, standing in front of him, she felt fear worm its way into her senses.

She'd grown up around this man; he'd once been her friend and confidante. But as she stared into his murky eyes and took in his horribly scarred complexion, she could not recall a single memory of how he had been before, friendly, bantering, and full of life.

"Chancellor," she addressed him, her tone cool and even.

He rose from his chair with all the strength of an old corpse, making it almost impossible to believe that this man had complete power over all the sentient beings in this galaxy. Padmé unconsciously took a step back, unable to stop her reaction to his marred form.

"I appreciate your sentimentality, but that title is no longer appropriate," he informed her, his tone just as even as hers.

"Palpatine, then?" she questioned, her expression innocent.

"Your quick tongue has always been your weakness, Senator," he spat at her, his eyes filled with venom. "After that has transpired, I find it laughable that you still attempt to defy me in whatever petty, juvenile ways you can." He drew his hood further around his face, and walked to the front of his desk.

Padmé watched him with even, wary eyes. "Lord Vader's medical condition remains unchanging," she spoke suddenly, surprised by her boldness. "I was under the impression that he would soon be undergoing reconstructive surgery."

Palpatine was slow to reply. "I am sure your patience will be rewarded," he said finally. "Meanwhile, my medical staff continues to provide him with the best treatment and care available. Surely you have no further complaints on the matter?"

Padmé felt her blood boil, knowing she could say nothing. Dismally, she realized that Palpatine had probably never indented for Vader to be physically well ever again; a dependant slave was probably a much more loyal one. She wanted to vomit. "No," she said simply. "Though while we are on the subject of my various complaints, I am unappreciative of how little say I have had in the upbringing of my children."

Palpatine paced to the window overlooking the city, turning his face from her. "Odile and Cadeius are strong in the Force, Padmé," he spoke, his voice pitching low. "As strong as their father. As their mother, I am sure that you must want their talents fostered and looked after." He turned to face her, his lips drawn in a frozen, diplomatic smile. "I foresee the younglings—once they are stronger—bringing much peace and prosperity to this new era."

Padmé willed herself not to scream in frustration.

"Senator," Palpatine began, heavily settling back into his chair, "much has transpired since the unfortunate fall of the Jedi Order. And you, my dear, have been quite unwell. Vader tells me of your sullen moods, your childish displays of inflexibility. I so strongly wish to see you well and like yourself again."

Padmé's fists clenched so tightly that she felt her nails cut into the skin of her palms.

"Don't feel betrayed, Senator," Palpatine assured her, his voice sweet as honey. "I can assure you, Lord Vader cares deeply for your emotional state and confides in me only out of husbandly concern." He pressed a button on the surface of his desk, activating his comlink. "Yes, Lord Tarkin. Please send Dr. Ruskin to Senator Amidala's quarters later this afternoon. Yes. Thank you." When he had received confirmation of his orders, he cut the connection.

Padmé exhaled slowly through her nose. "Your Excellency," she choked out. "I am in the best of health, I can assure you. My only concern is for my husband and children."

"As it should be," he was quick to agree, lacing his tone with sympathy. "Senator, please, I beg of you. It is merely a precaution. It is your husband's—and my—dearest wish to see you well."

Padmé knew that she had been defeated. How could you contradict the king of everything? How could you tell him he was wrong? "I will see Dr. Ruskin," she agreed begrudgingly. "But I wish to speak with you again soon."

"Of course," he agreed, standing, indicating that her presence here was no longer appropriate. "Your husband is like a son to me," he spoke, his tone so repulsively tender. "And you are his family. There are no closed doors here." He smiled, one last time, and extended his arm towards the door where she should exit.

Padmé nodded her head. "Thank you," she mumbled, and quickly left his presence.

-:-:-:-

Only a few hours later, Padmé was startled when a knock came on her bedroom door, waking her from her troubled nap. Tiredly, she rose from her chair by the window where she'd fallen into slumber, and crossed to the closed door. When she opened it, was she surprised to see an entirely unfamiliar face.

Her gaze settled upon an older man, a Rodian with deep set eyes and a green design on his face. "Senator," he greeted her, his voice gruff. "If you please, I've been instructed to evaluate you."

Padmé quickly regained her composure. "Doctor Ruskin."

Dr. Ruskin pulled a datapad from his cloak, and looked at her with careful eyes. "Please, Senator, take a seat," he instructed her, gesturing to the bed. Slowly, Padmé seated herself on the mattress, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Dr. Ruskin activated the datapad, and spoke in a calm, professional tone. "I'm just here to ask you a few questions," he said, his gaze careful and observant. "Please answer as honestly as you can." Padmé nodded, and he continued, reading from his screen. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling all right," Padmé spoke vaguely, by way of answer. "Just a bit tired."

Ruskin gave an acknowledging "hmm" and entered some information into the datapad. "How has your mood been over the past couple of weeks?"

"My mood?" she asked, her voice wary. "I was under the impression this would be a physical evaluation."

Ruskin gave her a brief, dismissive glance before returning his eyes to his datapad. "His Excellency ordered a full evaluation. The psychiatric aspect is merely standard procedure. Please try to answer as honestly as you can. Let's start out with how your mood has been over the past few weeks, please?"

Padmé felt an uneasy heaviness in her stomach. "I've been fine," she said, her voice a bit shaky. "As normal as can be expected, given the circumstances."

"I see. How has your memory been?"

"Normal," Padmé replied, disturbed by his cool air of nonchalance.

"Do you feel happy?"

"I haven't had much cause for it lately."

"Do you ever experience feelings of panic?"

Padmé's hands fidgeted in her lap. "No," she assured him.

Ruskin eyed her. "Please try to relax, Senator," he instructed her. She nodded. "Have you experienced a change in appetite, loss of pleasure in activities that used to interest you, or a feeling of emotional numbness lately?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, no."

He observed her for once tense moment before entering some more information into his datapad.

"Dr. Ruskin, I don't mean to be rude," she spoke carefully. "I know you've been instructed to give me a psychiatric evaluation, but I can promise you that I am fine. These questions are unnecessary."

Ruskin gave her a long, cold stare. "Well, Senator, that is for me to decide. I should warn you though, that prior to this evaluation, I spoke with Lord Vader."

"Regarding?" she snapped.

"Regarding your mental health, Senator." He set down his datapad, hands coming to rest on his knees, evaluating her carefully. "He's concerned for well-being, as is Lord Vader. Your husband spoke to me about your frequent bouts of depression. Quite frankly, the fact that you've been reluctant to admit them to me is somewhat concerning."

A lump was forming in her throat, making her words sound small. "No, Dr., my husband misunderstands me. I'm not mentally ill, I've simply been through a great deal-"

"Yes, much of your life has changed, no doubt," the doctor agreed with her. "Some level of depression following such large life changes is rather normal. However, in addition, your husband described violent mood swings, out-of-character behavior, and some level of paranoia about His Excellency, believing that he is somehow out to get you and your family."

She fumbled for words. "No, that's not it," she insisted, her words becoming jumbled. "I am merely expressing my concern-"

"Have you always experience some level of paranoia? Are you experiencing feelings of being watched, or followed?"

She felt tears welling to the surface of her eyes. He wasn't _listening. _"Dr.-"

"Senator, it is my professional opinion that you are suffering from bouts of hysteria," he spoke, putting his datapad aside, and suddenly, Padmé understood what this whole meeting had been about.

Palpatine had no intention of allowing her to be an inconvenience to his new Empire. He had to make sure that her voice was effectively silenced.

Padmé felt the tears running down her cheeks, knowing they were doing nothing to help her case.

Ruskin continued. "You seem to experience bouts of paranoia as well as depressive episodes, and you are unwilling to admit the level of distress you are experiencing. I'm rather tempted to place you under psychiatric care, but I know you are a new mother and I don't want to separate you from your children this early in their development."

"I don't need psychiatric care," Padmé hissed, her voice filled with an odd mixture of venom and fear. "My world has been turned upside down. Of course it's distressing."

"Yes, of course it is," the doctor said, his tone bordering on condescending. "Naturally, you are having some trouble adjusting. Although I think twenty-four psychiatric care would benefit you, I would be willing to try a medication regimen until further symptoms produce themselves or your current condition subsides."

Padmé was at a complete loss for words. "Medication?" she asked breathlessly. "Do I have a say in the matter?"

The doctor once again gave her a puzzled, weary look. "No one is going to force you to take your medication, Senator," he spoke, and she could see that once again she'd chosen the wrong words. "However, I'll be much more inclined to allow you to remain with your family if I see that you are being cooperative with your treatment."

Padmé wiped the tears from her eyes, unable to form a retort. Ruskin's comlink beeped, signaling that he was needed elsewhere. He stood up, making his way to the door. "It would do you well to rest," he instructed her. "A nurse will return later this evening to administer your medication. You are, of course, free to refuse it, but be mindful of the consequences that could follow. Good day, Senator."

Infuriated, Padmé's hands fumbled blindly for something—anything. She snatched pretty blue base in the corner and hurled it against the wall, smashing into a million irreparable fragments. Somewhere beyond the all-consuming rage, she heard Dormé enter the room.

"He is not going to get away with this," Padmé cried, more at herself than anyone else. "This fight isn't over until I say it is."

She cursed him, vowing, somewhere deep inside her heart, that she would not let Palpatine destroy her family. Perhaps it was too late to save the galaxy, but her little corner of the world was not going down without a fight.

-:-:-:-

_To be continued…_

* * *

**To my dear, lovely lurkers:**_**  
**_

**I love you all so much. Nothing could possibly make me love you more...EXCEPT maybe coming out of hiding and leaving me some feedback. =]**

** Without your incredibly helpful input, this story might completely crash and burn, and spiral into deep, dark, fanfiction hell. I don't trust myself not to try turn this into a Padme and JarJar love story (new title suggestions, anyone?) when that days happens. Just saying.**

**Love, Marisa  
**


	10. Mourning Violently

**Chapter 10: Mourning Violently**

* * *

"Padmé," his tender voice whispered from across the room. "Come here, love."

She could not help the wide grin that split her face as her husband beckoned her into his arms. Happily, she seated herself in his lap, sighing as his arms wrapped around her, tucking her beneath his chin. "Hi," she whispered against his chest.

A low chuckle sounded in his throat. "Hey, there." His hand wove softly through her curls, brushing sweetly against her cheek. "Is it just me, are you ten times more beautiful today than you were yesterday?"

She swatted him playfully, though her heart swelled at the familiar words, words that he'd repeated every day since the first day he'd called her his wife. Other women may have tired at his endless compliments, thinking someone could not truly mean so many things with such sincerity. But Padmé knew her Ani, and knew his words, no matter how silly, were from the bottom of his vulnerable heart. Greedily, she drank in his love, tucking his smiles and his kisses somewhere deep inside her heart, for those days not far ahead when she knew he would once again have to leave her. "You are so blinded by love, honey," she joked, though in part she believed it was a likely possibility. Smiling to herself, she thought, _who cares?_

She swore she could almost hear him grinning, as if he'd heard her thoughts aloud. "Maybe," he confessed, blocking another one of her playful swats. "But I'm so in love with you that you could switch bodies with a bantha tomorrow and I'd still want to wake up to your face every morning."

Padmé raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to tell me something?" she questioned, her tone deadly serious. "Have you developed a recent attraction to-"

He silenced her with a finger to her lips, squinting his eyes in disgust. "Don't even say it," he laughed. He brought her face up to his own, nuzzling her nose. "You know what I meant," he whispered, his voice suddenly breathy and low. He captured her lips in a lingering kiss, hands coming to rest on her back, when-

A wail.

Padmé broke from his kiss with a sigh. "Leia's at it again," she noted, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

Anakin laughed, agreeing, "She's a complainer, all right," though his eyes sparkled with all the tenderness of a father desperately in love with his daughter.

"Didn't get that from me," Padmé muttered under her breath, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile.

Anakin stood with her in his arms, giving her a quick kiss before placing her back on her feet. "I'll get her," he assured her, and whisked away into the nursery. He returned moments later with a tiny infant in his arms, swaddled in a soft blue blanket. "Well, look who decided it was his turn for some much needed attention."

Luke was still sniffling from his father's arms as Padmé approached her boys, lovingly giving each of their faces a caress. "My little Luke," she murmured, and somewhere deep down, she marveled at what a tender wife and mother she'd become, recalling those days when devastating battles and cutthroat politics had consumed her world. Now, that world had shrunk drastically, closing in on a mere three people. Surprisingly—wonderfully—it was anything but stifling.

Despite possessing the full attention of his parents, Luke continued to cry. Anakin's face scrunched up in frustration, his eyes peering down at his baby. "Do you think he's hungry?" he questioned, his tone a bit short.

"I just fed them not 30 minutes ago," Padmé refuted. She stared down at her child, who continued to wail with increasing fervor. "Shh, baby," she coaxed him, but if anything his screams became louder and more piercing.

"Luke, stop crying," Anakin urged the baby, his voice forceful. "Stop."

Padmé shot a look at her husband, somewhat incredulously. "He's just a baby," she argued. "Sometimes babies cry for no reason." But despite her reasoning, Luke's cries escalated to an urgent hysteria, causing a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Luke," she pleaded.

"Stop," Anakin ordered the child, his voice gruff. "Stop it."

"Anakin!" Padmé admonished him.

Anakin watched his son's face, and as he did, his own contorted into a frightening sight.

Padmé found herself recoiling in fear as his sky blue eyes turned a sickly, sulfurous yellow, rimmed with red hatred. His face contorted in anger, and Padmé could sense the waves of malice rolling off of him. "Anakin," she gasped, frightened.

"_Stop crying!"_

She watched in horror, inexplicably frozen to her spot, as Anakin, Luke in his arms, burst into flames. Padmé heard her own screams as she watched her husband burn, burn away.

And then he was black. A machine, glistening like steel, his face hidden, his voice disguised behind deep, rasping, mechanical breaths. She looked on in horror, screaming, as he took the baby by his throat, and held him high above the ground. Luke cries grew quieter and quieter and Padmé screamed at her legs to move, but she could do nothing. "NO!" she cried.

Horribly, baby Luke's head swiveled around to face her, his eyes yellow, mouth contorted into a dastardly grin.

-:-:-:-

"NO!"

Padmé woke with a start.

The room around her was pitch black, and she wondered frantically where Anakin had gone. Groggily working through her sleepy haze, she managed to push back the covers and dash across the hall into the nursery. No, no, no, Luke could not be dead, no-

She moved to the crib, expecting a broken, mangled infant body, and-

But what she saw was two babies, a boy and a girl, peacefully asleep, their tiny tummies rising and falling. Their faces were turned towards each other, hands touching, seeking each other's comfort in the stillness of the night.

Padmé felt her knees go weak, and she sunk to the ground in broken relief. She realized that she was crying, silent sobs racking her body, stealing her lungs of air. Suddenly drained of all strength, she managed to stumble into the hallway, shutting the door behind her, before once again falling to the ground, forehead and knees scraping against the rough carpet. She felt her body contort with each soundless cry, and felt her lungs ache for air. It had been too much—what she'd seen—and her tired mind could no longer take it. She lost herself in wild grief, mourning violently.

Minutes later, a voice broke through her tumultuous consciousness. "Padmé."

She lifted weary, wet eyes to see the form of a black-clad Sith Lord in front of her.

Unconsciously, her body jerked back towards the wall, her mind recalling the horrific scene from her nightmare, still etched onto her retinas.

She saw him reach out a hesitant arm, as if wishing to touch her. "Padmé," he repeated, and she thought she heard his breath hitch. "I-"

"No," she insisted, her voice a mere raspy whisper. "Don't speak. Just don't."

His outstretched arm fell awkwardly to his side, and she shut her eyes, wishing she could disappear and be swallowed up by the foundations of this gods damned, accursed world.

Before she could protest, she was being swept up into a pair of strong, silent arms. Fear gripped her heart like a vice, but it was slowly replaced by confusion as she registered the two of them moving across the hallway, back into her bedroom. He placed her gently on the bed, and Padmé felt herself drowning in incredulity, staring into two, empty black orbs.

"I felt your pain," he said simply, and for a moment, she was able to imagine his face underneath that mask, contorting with concern, as it had so many times before, times that now seemed like another lifetime. "It was a nightmare."

Padmé found no words, only the strength the nod, wondering if he was probing her mind for the contents of her dream. Incongruously, she wondered how he had accessed her quarters, and realized that her access codes were probably completely worthless in this Force-forsaken place.

She was utterly shocked, to say the least, when his monstrous form knelt beside her, and his hand reached out to touch her own. "Padmé," he said, his voice deliberate and slow. "This…" he said, and could find no words to elaborate. "This was all for you."

Padmé stared.

In the months since his accident, so much had transpired between them; frigid silences, terrifying commands, unyielding orders, and harsh words of contempt. But here, both of them utterly broken and lost, he was kneeling besides her, trying to convey to her in his own, flawed way, that everything—_everything—_had been for her. That he'd fought and wrestled and been swallowed whole by his own demons…for her.

Here, as she was reeling from a nightmare in which he'd been the monster, he was trying to comfort her.

Padmé's hand instinctively flew to cover her heart, feeling it pounding beneath her fingertips. An old emotion surfaced in that moment; a deep, heartfelt longing for the comforting embrace of her husband, for his tender kisses and soft words of consolation.

Memories flashed briefly in her mind: a little boy, scared and alone, covered in a blanket in the corner of the room, pining for his mother. A young man, running through the fields of Naboo, chasing after a woman in yellow and pink ribbons. A sweet lover, holding her face in his hands, whispering words of, "I do," and kissing her with all the passion of years of unrequited love. A tender father, stroking her swollen belly, speaking softly to the child within.

There were tears streaming down her face, and she felt her heart clench tightly, feeling empty.

Anakin spoke no words, but briefly, hesitantly, his hand came to rest upon the softness of her curls. Before she could be surprised, he whisked out of the room, leaving her breathless and utterly confused.

Wiping her tired tears away, she mourned for the pain in her heart. But simultaneously, she rejoiced in it, savoring the first feelings of tenderness towards her husband she had felt in far, far too long.

-:-:-:-

When the dawn came, Padmé had not yet slept.

After Anakin had left, Padmé had been left momentarily stunned, unable to comprehend whether the scene that she recalled had been a figment of her imagination, or an incredible, breathtaking reality.

She had not seen her husband in days. He was absent often, a fact that was paradoxically comforting as it was disconcerting. His absence certainly improved the atmosphere of her little home, but if he was not within her sight, she shuddered to think of what he was doing under the orders of his Master.

But last night, he'd been here.

He'd felt her pain, and he'd come for her.

As she'd laid awake, she'd mulled over the details of her tumultuous dream. _It's this medication, _she mused darkly, recalling the previous evening when a nurse droid had administered the drug. Naturally, Palpatine and his puppets knew that she would have never taken the medication in pill form, and instead had settled on a regimen of daily injections. With a heavy heart and a restless mind, she wondered what further side effects would present themselves, and realized she had little knowledge of what exactly this medication was even doing.

As the morning sun streamed through her window, she rose from her bed, dark thoughts swirling through her exhausted mind. Crossing to the window, she stared out into the sun until her eyes burned from the intensity, though her thoughts were so consuming that she barely felt the sting.

_She had to do something._

Her situation was quickly becoming increasingly precarious. And although she loved Luke and Leia with every fiber of her being, she was all too aware that their presence made matters infinitely more complex. She did not have the option of a simple, quick escape—not that it would have been simple or quick, or even necessarily what she desired—when she had two small infants to think of.

Last night had altered her present view of the situation.

He had committed unspeakable horrors. He'd killed _children—_a shudder traveled up her spine as the image of a strangling infant in his fingers returned to the forefront of her mind. He'd betrayed his friends, his family, his wife, his children, and the Force—and though his betrayal on that front was beyond her understanding, she'd heard enough Jedi speaking of the perils of the dark side to understand that it was a grave course of action her husband had taken.

_Her husband._

Perhaps it was archaic and naïve, but Padmé could not let herself forget that she had made eternal vows to this man. She'd sworn her life to him, that day in front of the crystal waters of Varykino, where he'd stolen her heart, the only place in this world she could think of and imagine as yet untouched by whatever madness the rest of the galaxy had fallen into.

Through all their troubles—and there had been plenty—her love for Anakin had been the one thing that made sense. Her one constant.

Grimly, she realized that there would never again come a time like the beginning of their romance. Whatever Anakin said to her now, whatever he did—no matter if he suddenly appeared before her, a whole man again, eyes crystal blue and heart overflowing with contrition—she would never be able to go back to loving him the way she had before.

When he'd fallen, she'd had romantic delusions of being a devoted, loyal wife, remaining deeply in love with Anakin Skywalker until the day she died. But the initial shock and horror of the situation had subsided, leaving a dull ache in her heart. She was intelligent enough to realize that she could not trust him with her heart; never again.

But she _could _cast her feelings aside and try to help him—to save him, even. Perhaps love was never—as she'd once thought—about a feeling; an emotion that could change like the patterns of a storm, fleeting and unpredictable. Maybe it was about doing what was best for _him, _about casting selfishness aside in favor of altruism.

There would come a day—and with each growing hour, she feared that day may be sooner rather than later—that she would come to the end of her life. And when that day came, she would certainly have immense regret for all her various failings; for her planet, her political ideals, her family…her_self._

But perhaps, as much of a failure as she was, she still had some part to play in this unfolding story. Perhaps she could make a world of difference.

_This was all for you._

He'd spoken those words to her in the stillness of the night, in the midst of the climax of her fear. Those words were not the words of an evil, irredeemable monster; no, those were the words of a broken man, lost at sea, without an anchor to keep him steady. Those were the words of a man who had been viciously overcome by his own demons, but still desperately holding on to his barely beating heart.

If all this evil had been done in her name, perhaps the opposite effect was possible.

There was still tenderness in her husband, yet. She merely had to awaken it.

Bringing herself back to the present, Padmé firmly set her jaw, reflecting her resolve. She was just one woman, but he was also just one man. Whatever powers that be, he was still only human. And though she knew of his tremendous power, she—perhaps better than anyone—knew of his intimate vulnerability, and that knowledge fueled her strength to do what she knew she needed to do.

Padmé Naberrie Amidala Skywalker was tired of passivity; she was going to confront her husband.

-:-:-:-

_To be continued..._

* * *

**Hello everyone! Thank you for all your kind reviews and interest.**

**To address some recurring comments/questions:**

**-Anakin/Vader is around…just off doing Palpy's bidding. I would imagine that due to his medical needs, he does not live in the same quarters as Padmé.**

**-Also, yes, Padme's life does suck right now...but we know she won't put up with that for long, of course ;)**

**Please review, guys! See you at the next update!**


	11. Venom

**Hey, guys! Sorry this chapter has taken so long. I had my finals and moving back home, and I just needed a little down time to rest! Hope you guys enjoy this next update. Thanks for reading, and all reviews are welcome!**

* * *

Running.

_She was dashing ahead of him, colored ribbons streaming behind her like wild bands in a rainbow. Her strides were short, though surprisingly fast, and his legs were pumping at their full speed to keep her within his sight._

Laughter.

_Her eyes sparkled whenever she would turn back to gauge his distance from her, her mouth open in a carefree, abandoned giggle that made his heart pump wildly. "You're too slow!" she cried, her stamina seemingly never ceasing._

_He heard himself laughing, wondering how such a small thing could travel so quickly. But if he'd learned one thing in the past three years, it was never to underestimate his wife, regardless of the task at hand; she had a way of being infuriatingly good at most things she attempted._

_Finally fed up with the distance between them, he called upon the Force to increase his speed, not caring that his wife would later indignantly declare that he was a rotten cheater. With his legs pumping three times as fast as hers, he caught her in only a few seconds, trapping her around the waist as a small cry of surprise escaped her lips. In a chaotic tumble of limbs and fabric, they fell to the mossy ground beneath them. He caught himself on his arms, careful not to trap her beneath his weight—which was not exactly trifling in comparison to hers. Padmé landed on her stomach, face into the grass, and Anakin felt a flash of concern, worrying that perhaps he'd been too rough with her, noting that her alarming silence. But when he turned her to lie on her back, he saw tears streaming down her scrunched, red face, contorted with silent laughter. _

Breathlessness.

_Anakin couldn't help the joy he felt at the sight of his wife in such disarray; laughing uncontrollably, covered in dirt and grass, and unbelievably beautiful. "Gods, Padmé," he choked through his laughter. "How did you ever get so kriffing fast?"_

_Padmé grinned, still giggling. "How in the name of the Force are you so slow?" she countered quickly, her chocolate eyes dancing with mirth. "Is this what you have to show for 13 years of Jedi training? Maybe we need to reconsider who we have protecting our galaxy!"_

_Anakin laughed, and gave Padmé a playful swat on her stomach. "I love you way too much for my own good," he chuckled by way of answer. Her resounding laughter was enough to kindle all his pent up passion, and fervently he reached down to press a desperate kiss to her open mouth. They kissed for what seemed like eternity, time slipping easily through their fingers, so lost in each other that all else seemed but a dream…_

Vader felt a painful lump rise in his throat at the vivid memory, marveling at the simplicity that they had once enjoyed, when their love was young and their spirits light.

Though in retrospect, nothing had been as perfect as it seemed; just outside of their awareness, the galaxy had been desperately falling to pieces.

Vader breathed a deep sigh of resignation, turning away from the ocean of stars outside his massive viewport. Through mechanical, tinted lenses, he perceived the members of his crew toiling endlessly, running about the main deck of the ship as if something were on fire, all the while carefully avoiding him like he could kill them all with his mere presence. _Nothing inspires productivity quite like a healthy dose of fear, _he mused, crossing his arms in front of his breastplate, although the thought of it was not so much satisfying as it was strangely uncomfortable.

Shaking all thoughts of his wife from his mind, he slowly began to pace the bridge, sensing the sudden, cautious observance of his crew, somewhat irritated that they responded so acutely to his every move.

Vader's body still felt unnaturally heavy and disconnected, though he knew that every limb would obey him just as he commanded. His kinesthetic body sense felt entirely _wrong, _despite the fact that his motor skills were completely intact by medical standards. He felt the familiar pangs of disgust deep within his gut, and quickly redirected the path of his thoughts before they turned towards the frighteningly dark corner of his mind for which he reserved all thoughts of his accident—and all those involved.

Vader was jostled from his introspection with the frantic beeping of his comlink. He fumbled with his utility belt and retrieved the infuriating device, bringing it to his helmet. He felt an urgent pressure on his mind, like his consciousness was being pushed underwater by a persistent force, and knew that the familiar sensation was his Master attempting to contact him.

"Master," he said into the comlink, turning his face from the crew and back towards the viewport. Knowing his Master insisted upon private communication, he impressed upon all within earshot that whatever the dark lord before them was saying was of little importance, and he sensed their attention completely reabsorbed back into their work. Satisfied, he turned his attention towards the conversation at hand.

"Lord Vader," came the throaty, slow voice of his Master. "I trust your mission was successful, as usual."

"Yes, my Lord," Vader was quick to reassure him, careful to not let his mind stray towards the grimy details of this particular mission—though this task had been relatively insignificant in the grand scheme of things, he found it distressing to focus on the details. His Master demanded no less than his absolute obedience, which often involved pressing the boundaries of his comfort zone; probably the after-effects of many years adhering to that damned Jedi Code, which forbade practically everything under the twin suns. Vader found it easy, however, to disassociate, a talent he had acquired over the years, a talent that had kept him alive in many precarious situations.

"Good," his Master affirmed. "I am comforted to have such a competent apprentice serving under me. Your work here is invaluable, Lord Vader."

Vader felt a swell of pride at his words, contemplating how the Jedi had always managed to make him feel small and incompetent, as though he were an errand boy instead of the Chosen One. Palpatine often sent Vader on missions that required skills far beneath his capacity, but he was always quick to reassure his apprentice that his work was of absolute importance. Though Vader often wished he would be presented with more opportunities to harness his newly acquired powers, he knew that—as the saying went—Coruscant was not built in a day, and it would take time before Palpatine restored enough order to the galaxy to where these small missions would no longer be necessary.

"Thank you, my Master."

There was a lingering pause on the other end of line. "There is another matter to discuss," Palpatine spoke evenly. "There is the matter of your wife's health."

Vader immediately felt his heart clutch painfully, his thoughts spinning instantly into a wild panic. Thousands of worst case scenarios swirled through his mind, leaving his stomach feeling like it had dropped all the way down to his feet. "Is she all right?" he demanded, dimly noting the sudden attention of the men closest to him.

"She is in no immediate danger," his Master assured him, though Vader only felt the vice around his heart ease up fractionally. "Physically, Padmé is well, but I am concerned about her mental state. I have had one of my physicians evaluate her, and unfortunately he has deemed that she is unstable."

His stomach was right back up in his body now—all the way in his throat. "Unstable?"

"Dr. Ruskin seems to think she is suffering from bouts of hysteria," his Master explained, and Vader recalled the night he had gone to her, having felt her terror in the force, and watching as she'd wildly sobbed against the floor. "It is only natural, of course. Senator Amidala has experienced many significant life changes in a short amount of time. Dr. Ruskin has assured me that she will recover with time, but for the moment, he has started her on a medication regimen to help ease her symptoms."

Unbidden, memories of his wife flashed before his eyes. Padmé, standing before the Gungans, revealing herself as the true Queen of Naboo, all eyes fixated upon her regal form. Padmé, addressing the Senate, her words powerful and stirring, creating lasting change. Padmé, the galaxy's—and his—paradigm of strength.

"That being said," his Master continued, unaware of his apprentice's inner turmoil, "I would advise you to listen to your wife with discretion. Besides her usual disadvantage of being female, her emotions may be even more out of control than normal."

Vader felt his heart twist. "Yes, my Master."

The remainder of the conversation seemed to Vader nothing more than an instinctive and unintelligible murmur of sounds, and before his awareness could catch up with him, his Master had already cut the connection, leaving him to his thoughts and his view of hyperspace.

Barking a few swift orders to his crew members, he turned on his steel boots and marched from the bridge towards his hyperbolic chamber, knowing that his first duty upon arriving back on-planet would be to visit his wife.

* * *

Padmé had learned from a very young age to dress deliberately.

Though there were many men who considered _fashion _a trifling game for little girls, Padmé understood very well that it was subtle art.

Fashion had played a significant role in her political career from the very beginning. As the youngest Queen ever elected, her appearance had been critical; she knew the ability of a gown to portray confidence; a color to reflect occasion, and a hairpiece to command attention and convey regality. Her clothes had been fashioned in such a way to minimize her femininity, to appear as less of a woman and more of a unisex symbol of strength and sovereignty.

This day was somewhat different. She was not addressing a Senate, or negotiating a treaty, or charging into a battle; but that didn't mean she wasn't treading dangerous ground.

Anakin had contacted her that morning, telling her that he wished to meet with her immediately when he arrived on-planet. His estimated time of arrival was that evening, and the time was nearing when she would make her move.

Now, as she dressed, each item she adorned herself with was chosen with great consideration: a simple purple, Senatorial gown, the color of royalty, the style of someone who had no time for nonsense; a simple hairpiece, to convey elegance and grace; and lastly, significant pieces of jewelry. She had chosen to wear her coronation ring, a large, blue stone set in a band of thick silver. And most importantly, she donned the japor snippet around her neck, setting it carefully upon her delicately exposed collarbone, to remind Anakin of all the ways in which she had once been his beloved, tender wife.

Dormé entered the room, her expression visually pained. "He's arrived, my lady," she spoke, her voice shaking almost imperceptibly.

Padmé had never been a religious woman—nor did she know if it was appropriate to _pray _to the Force—but she sent up a silent plea to whatever was listening that her characteristic strength would not fail her now, when she needed it most.

"Thank you, Dormé," she said, her tone completely neutral. "Perhaps now would be a good time to have a visit with the babies." Their eyes locked, and unspoken words passed between them, desperate words that were only understood in times like these. _I don't know what's going to happen. Protect them with your life._

Dormé nodded without hesitation. "Yes, my lady."

Padmé strode past her friend and handmaiden, and arrived in the sitting room, in front of her seated husband.

Forcing her body to calm, she smiled cordially. "Welcome home."

"Thank you," he said, and she imagined that he was eyeing her carefully somewhere in that mask of his. "Sit," he ordered her, and gestured to the chair opposite him. "I have a matter I'd like to discuss with you."

Padmé sat slowly, folding her hands in her skirt. "As do I. But tell me what you have to say first." Her words were calm and even, her expression neutral. She was careful to keep her emotions in check, knowing that not only was her husband incredibly perceptive, but he had a little extra help in that department from the Force.

He wasted no time. "I'm worried about you, Padmé," he confessed, though as usual, she could sense no emotion in his robotic voice. "You've seemed quite distressed lately."

"Well, things have been a bit distressing lately," she countered easily.

Anakin paused. "The other night," he began hesitantly, "I sensed you having a nightmare. I could feel your fear. I've never sensed fear like that before—not even in battle. I was concerned for you."

Padmé nodded diplomatically. "I appreciate the concern. But it was just a nightmare."

Again, her husband hesitated. "Perhaps that's so," he conceded, "but what I encountered in the hallway when I came for you was not 'just a nightmare.' You were sobbing hysterically on the floor, Padmé. You were huddled there like an animal. You were practically screaming."

The contents of her dream flooded back into her mind, and she desperately tried to shove them back into her unconscious mind. She noticed Anakin's body language shift, and she could see that her efforts had been in vain; he had already sensed the fear in her emotions.

"Padmé," he said, his hands flexing in his lap, as if he wanted to reach out and touch her. "You have nothing to be afraid of. I am the most powerful man in the galaxy, Padmé. I'm second in command in the Galactic Empire. I'm the Chosen One. Nothing could ever possibly hurt you. No one would dare."

Padmé chose her words carefully. "You see, Anakin," she began, "this is where you and I disagree."

Anakin's shoulders visibly stiffened. "I _am _the most powerful man in the galaxy, Padmé," he spoke, his voice deep and rumbling. "Do you doubt me?"

"Though I cannot understand them exactly, I have never once doubted the breadth of your powers," she assured him truthfully, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. "It is not your ability that I doubt. Rather, it is your judgment."

Though Padmé was not a Force-user, she could have sworn that his anger was palpable. "You don't trust me," he accused her, and she knew it was the worst insult. "In what way have I shown myself to be untrustworthy?" he demanded. "Have I not given you the galaxy? Have I not sacrificed everything for you? Have I not always risked e_verything _to protect you and keep you safe?"

Fighting her newer instincts to keep silent, Padmé pressed forward, knowing she must speak her mind. "Anakin, if you think that all this was what I wanted_, _then in all your years of knowing me, you have not understood me at all."

She took a deep breath, knowing the time to speak was now. She would not get another chance.

"Anakin, many months ago you came to me with a nightmare," she began, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. "You had a vision of me dying in childbirth-"

"And you almost did," he bit out, clenching his fists once more. "Palpatine saved you. Without me, he never would have done so. _I _saved you."

"Yes, Anakin," she agreed, her tone hard. "I'm _alive. _But all this, Anakin…none of this is worth it. Do you even realize what has happened to the life we knew? What you've become?"

"I've become more powerful than the Jedi ever let me be," he hissed.

"At what cost?" she pressed, her voice growing louder. "Anakin, take a look at the world around you. Wake up. Democracy is dead. The galaxy is in shambles. The entire Jedi order is dead, at _your hand. _Our children are being raised to be Sith Lords! How can any of this be worth my life alone?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he spat.

Padmé stood, towering over him. "Do you even see what's happened to you? Look at you! You almost died, Anakin. You run around the galaxy, doing who knows what, all in the name of a man who lied to the entire galaxy about his identity for _years, _and then seized absolute control over it in its most desperate hour."

Vader stood, his full height almost making her want to take back all her words. "The Emperor has restored order to the galaxy. The Senate was doing nothing but squabbling over insignificant matters, and the Jedi were merely standing in Palpatine's way."

"Order?" Padmé spat back at him. "Walk outside for a moment and you will see that there is no _order _to be found. People are living in the streets and dying-"

"If they cannot keep themselves alive, then they do not deserve to live," he hissed at her, his body tensing—if possible—even further.

Padmé marveled at his callousness. "You once swore to protect the weak," she said quietly. "You once were the defender for those who had none. And now you coldly shove those aside who could most benefit from your power. You have the capacity to do so much good, Anakin, but instead you've used your gifts to turn to the dark side and oppress those who desperately need your help!" She found herself struggling to keep the tears from falling down her face. "Do you remember what your mother said to you, after you won the pod race on Tatooine? She said, 'Anakin, you've given homes to those who have none. I'm so proud of you. You give without thought of reward.'"

Anakin slapped her across the face, hard, and she fell to the ground from the force of it. "Enough! Don't speak of her!" he cried, gloved finger pointed at her.

Padmé cradled her cheek in her hand, trying to ignore the sting in her face. The tears were falling swiftly now, and Padmé chided herself for having lost control of the situation so quickly. "You are not the man I married," she hissed at him, quietly. "The man I married would have _never _laid a hand on me. I would have rather died after all, than be called your wife." Her words were venomous, she knew, but she could see no other way to make him see reason.

A strange sound came from his voice box, a noise that sounded almost like a choked cry. His body shuddered, and Padmé thought, for an instant, that perhaps he was beginning to understand, but she was horribly, horribly wrong.

The sensation came without warning, just as it had the first time. Instinctively, her hands flew to her throat, and she felt terror invade her mind as the invisible hands began to once again constrict her airways. "_Anakin," _she choked out, gasping wildly.

But it was no use.

She felt her body being lifted from the ground, until she was suspended in mid air. Everything was start to swirl in her vision. Her lungs were screaming. Her legs were wildly kicking.

He was going to kill her.

_Luke, _she thought, her mind slowly drifting into unconsciousness. _Leia…_

But then, without warning, the sensation stopped, and she crumpled to the ground in a heap, choking and gasping for air.

"My Master was right," Vader spoke aloud. "You have lost your mind, Padmé. You are no longer fit to live in this house with your children. I will send for the medic at once." He turned away from her, his cloak billowing behind him.

"No," she tried to cry, but her voice was nothing but a mere whisper. "Please." The tears were streaming heavily down her face, and she felt as if her skin were the only thing keeping her together.

But Vader heeded her no attention. He exited the apartment swiftly, without hesitations, mercy, or remorse.

How horribly wrong she had been. How horribly wrong.

Padmé sobbed, knowing everything was now completely over.

She had lost.

* * *

**_To be continued..._**


End file.
